


All That You Will Be

by Morbidmuch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of alcoholism, Mutal Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Severus Snape Lives, Slow Burn, Smut, mention of suicide, mentions of abuse, tale as old as time burn as slow as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 80,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25267177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidmuch/pseuds/Morbidmuch
Summary: The last thing Hermione Granger expected after the war was to suddenly be made responsible for a not-so-dead Severus Snape.
Relationships: Background Ron Weasley/Lavender Brown, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, background Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, background non-canon relationship
Comments: 1270
Kudos: 1195
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my newest fic-baby! This was inspired by a drabble I wrote for my drabble fic, _A Catalogue of Afternoons_.
> 
> I'm very excited about this one, so I'm not going to waffle on for much longer. I just want to send the warmest hugs to my beta Turtle_wexler for her invaluable help, as well as send lots of love to Q_drew, who is the most enthustiastic alpha reader one could ask for.
> 
> Oh, and before I forget; the 2020 SSHG prompt fest is currently going down over at [Livejournal](https://sshg-promptfest.livejournal.com/) so jump over there for some amazing stories and artwork!
> 
> Onwards with the show!

_Chapter One_

The office of the Minister for Magic was in a state of chaos. Hermione stood uncomfortably by the door as Kingsley Shacklebolt magically shifted papers and binders out of the way. He had been acting Minister for just shy of six months, and he looked exhausted. To be honest, they were all exhausted. War would do that to a person.

Kingsley gestured to the upholstered blue chair, now void of clutter. “Sit, please. What can I do for you, Hermione?”

Hermione sat, wringing her hands in her lap. “Harry told me there has been some trouble with the sentencing at the trials.”

Kingsley sighed. “It's not the sentencing that's the problem, it's where to put them if they're convicted. Azkaban is filling up fast – faster than we would like. The suggestion has was made to allow low-risk prisoners, those convicted of minor offences, to serve their time in house arrest in the custody of family or someone who could act as a minder. It will be voted through in the Wizengamot tomorrow.”

Hermione wet her dry lips. “That is actually why I'm here. I would like to volunteer as a minder.”

Kingsley looked surprised. “What brought this on? You don't have any connection to any of the prisoners, as far as I know.”

“I wish to petition for Severus Snape.”

His eyes practically bulged out of his head. She'd never seen him so flustered before.

“Snape? Why?”

Hermione sighed. “We left him for dead in the Shrieking Shack. We – I – owe him. And he has no family, so who is going to act as his minder? There are plenty of people on both sides of the war who have reasons to hate him; he could end up hurt.” Or worse, but she didn't want to say that out loud.

Kingsley rubbed a hand over his face. “I had been wondering what to do about Snape. He's still in St Mungo's, but the Healers assure me he's fit to be released any day now.”

“And his sentence?” Hermione had been appalled – and still was – when she learnt that the Wizengamot could hold a trial without the accused there to be able to defend himself. Both she and Harry had protested vehemently, but to no avail.

“Six months, during which he will be required to surrender his wand and wear a Magic Suppression Cuff.”

Her brows knitted together. “What's that?”

“The prisoners in Azkaban wear a cuff that restricts magic. It's not permanent, but effectively renders the wearer a Squib for as long as the cuff stays on.”

Hermione's stomach turned. She couldn't imagine being without her magic; it would be like cutting off a limb. “I see. Is there any paperwork I need to sign to make it an official petition?”

Kingsley shifted some papers around on the desk and pulled out a drawer or two before he found what he was looking for. He handed her the application. “Look this over when you get home and don't hesitate to Floo me if you've got any questions.”

She glanced at the first page before shrinking it and putting it into her beaded bag. “Does Snape get a say in this? Can he reject me as a minder?”

Kingsley hesitated, and that was a answer enough.

Hermione shook her head. “I won't accept that. He has to have a choice.” Harry hadn't told her what he saw in the Pensieve on the night of the battle, but some things she could piece together herself. And one of those things was that Snape had not had much autonomy since switching to the Light, if he'd even had any before then. That ended now.

Kingsley looked exasperated. “We're already taking a huge risk allowing convicts to serve out their sentence in house arrest instead of in Azkaban. Hermione, I assure you that we're taking precautions to make sure that no one will be mistreated. Can you be satisfied with that?”

She sighed. This was not what she wanted. “I suppose I don't have much of a choice, do I?”

Kingsley leaned forward. “I'll talk to him. If he outright refuses, I'll send an owl.”

Hermione held herself together as she rode the lift up to the atrium, handed in her visitor's badge at the security desk and queued to the Floo. She landed in her sitting room, where she put her beaded bag on the half-circle end table by the fireplace and then promptly burst into tears.

She cried until her head hurt and her eyes burnt. She felt disgusting. Sniffling, she crossed the entryway and went into the kitchen to put a kettle on. Whilst the water was heating up, she headed to the downstairs loo to splash some cold water on her face. Hermione avoided her reflection, knowing what she would see: a too-thin face with dull eyes and a mess of frizzy hair. In an almost panicked state, she'd cut most of it off a few weeks ago. It now reached her collarbone, and without the length weighing it down it was poofier than ever.

Having made herself a cup of tea (English breakfast with a splash of milk) Hermione grabbed the packet of chocolate digestives from the cupboard and went into the dining room. The table was mostly covered in books and parchment, except for a perfect square in front of the rightmost chair and this was where she put down her mug and the biscuits. She fetched her beaded bag from the sitting room and then sat, folding one leg underneath her. She put the application Kingsley had given her on the table and sipped her tea. Might as well get this over with.

She scanned the first page. Right; _name, date of birth, address, occupation_. Those were easy, she could answer those. _What is your relationship with the prisoner?_ She sat back and nibbled on a biscuit. What was her relationship with Professor Snape? Well, she didn't have one was the short answer. Former student. She would put down former student. Next came a bunch of questions about what the minder (Hermione) would expect from the prisoner (Snape). Nothing, she expected nothing.

Coming to the end of the application, she sat back and rested her chin on her raised knee. What was she doing? Was she actually serious about this? If he agreed it would mean having him at her house for the next six months. She'd read up more about the terms of his sentence; the house-arrest included the boundaries of the property, not just the actual house. That was a relief, at least he would have the garden to spend time in (even if it was November). He would go stir-crazy if he was stuck indoors for the duration. Maybe she could convert the garden shed into a potions lab for him: there were dozens of potions he could brew without a wand. She turned her head to look out at the garden. The greenhouse needed some tending to, as did the gardening beds. It would be a good project for the springtime.

This could be good, she hoped. Or if not good, hopefully not disastrous. Of course, this all hinged on Snape accepting her as his minder. She didn't know what would surprise her more; him saying no or him agreeing to it.

–

Severus swallowed the potion and grimaced. Someone really should try to improve the flavour of medicinal potions; they tasted like dragon dung. He was on five different potions trying to undo the damage done by that ruddy snake, as well as a few others to combat the various health issues he'd ignored over the years. They all tasted horrible.

Merlin, this was a miserable existence. Not only did he have the misfortune of surviving the war, but it would also seem most of his injuries would heal completely. The peppy Healer had smiled widely when she told him they had been able to counteract the effect of the venom on his vocal cords (to be fair, he _was_ quite pleased about that). Then Kingsley Shacklebolt – who was Minister for Magic now – had dropped by with the news that he had been sentenced to only six months of house-arrest for killing Albus (euthanasia they called it), and would not even have to set foot in Azkaban. It was downright asinine.

Severus moved gingerly to the chair by the window. Half a dozen potions aside, he still wasn't feeling himself. Add to that was the indignity of hospital clothes. At least the trouser and shirt combination was better than the open back gown he'd seen on the Evans' telly when he was young. He'd rather take another go with the snake than to wear that, to be honest. He raised a bony hand to rub at his eyes.

A brisk knock on the door, and the peppy Healer entered the room. “Good afternoon, Mr Snape. Are you feeling up for a visitor?” She put a heavy hand on his shoulder, and he flinched. “Why, it's the Minister for Magic himself! How exciting!”

Severus nodded curtly but didn't turn around. He heard the heavier treads of Shacklebolt as the man entered. He plopped down in the chair next to Severus and removed his hat.

“Snape.”

“Shacklebolt.”

The Healer clapped his shoulder. “Right then, I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

Once the door was closed behind her, Kingsley spoke. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “I've been worse.”

Kingsley cleared his throat. “I'm here on official business, with a proposition.”

Severus' eyebrow arched. “Are you now? Do you visit all convicts personally, or should I feel special?”

Kingsley chuckled. “There is no doubt your case is unlike the others, Snape. I'm actually here by the request of another.”

“Oh?”

“As you know, your sentence is to be served in the custody of a minder. Usually, this means a family member.” Kingsley paused. “Since you have no next of kin, anyone can petition to be a minder.”

Severus' stomach dropped. They'd failed to inform him of that little detail.

“Someone has petitioned for you,” he continued, “but she wanted to make sure that you would be amiable to her as a choice. She stressed that you be made aware that you can turn down her application, should you wish to.”

“Who is it?”

Kingsley looked uncomfortable. “Hermione Granger.”

Hermione bloody Granger.

Severus hadn't spared the chit a thought since she'd stood next to a teary-eyed Potter a few days after he was admitted to St Mungo's. She hadn't spoken much then, other than a “feel better, Professor,” as they were leaving. There had to be a reason why she would petition to be his minder, and it probably had something to do with Potter. At least he knew she wouldn't be cruel; she was ruthless (that jinx she put on Marietta Edgecombe had been difficult even for him to undo), but she wasn't sadistic by nature.

“Tell Miss Granger,” he said, pausing to imagine her shrill voice asking him endless questions for the next six months, “that I find her request agreeable.”

By Salazar, he was already regretting this.

Kingsley looked surprised. That made two of them. “All right, then. I'll let her know.” He rose. Severus didn't. “The Healers tell me you are being released on Thursday morning, so that's when your sentence will begin. An Auror will come to get you and bring you to the Ministry.”

Severus nodded. Thursday. That meant he had three days before he would be at the mercy of Granger for the next six months. Oh, joy.

–

Before Severus knew it, Thursday morning arrived and he was being poked and prodded by Healers for the last time. He still had to take half a dozen potions a day, but at least the daily prodding would stop. He had even been given actual clothes – his own by the looks of it. Too bad he couldn't burn the hospital clothes as a rite of passage before leaving.

Auror Barnes (Hufflepuff, abysmal at Potions, graduating class of '87) was his escort to the Ministry, and her face was tight as she tapped the Portkey. They materialised in a nondescript room, presumably at the Auror Headquarters, which featured a dingy looking table with three chairs surrounding it. In one of those chairs sat Kingsley, and beside him sat a stout man Severus recognised as Linden Pugs, the Head of the Auror Department.

“Sit,” Pugs said gruffly.

Severus almost remained standing, then thought better and took the free chair, situated on the other side of the table. Barnes remained standing behind and to the side of him.

“The terms of your sentence,” Pugs continued, sliding a parchment across the table, “is six months house arrest to be served between today, the 12th of November, 1998 and the 12th of May, 1999. During this time you will be relieved of your wand and are required to wear a Magical Suppression Cuff. At the end of your sentencing, the cuff will be removed and you will get your wand back.” He looked sternly at Severus through watery grey eyes. “I must warn you that any attempts at removing the suppression cuff or leave the premises which you reside in will result in two years added to your penalty, to be served in Azkaban. Have you understood the terms as I have explained them to you?”

Snape nodded. “I have.” None of this was news to him, and he'd made his peace with being rendered a Squib for the duration of his sentence. It was a small price to pay. His wand had been taken from him almost a month ago, after the sentencing.

“Do you have any questions at this time?”

“I do not.”

Pugs sat back. “Good. Then we're nearly finished here.” He turned to Kingsley. “Has Miss Granger arrived yet?”

Kingsley nodded. “She is in the waiting room. Barnes, will you go and fetch her, please?”

“Yes, Minister.”

Barnes moved swiftly, and when the door opened the sound of a busy office space bled into the room. Then the door closed, and it was once again quiet.

From his robe pocket, Pugs produced a slim silver circlet. “Let's get this over with, Snape. Your wand arm, please.”

Severus presented his right arm, palm up. He expected to feel something when the circlet was clamped onto his wrist – maybe a burning sensation as his magic left his body. But there was nothing. He swiftly pulled his arm back. His insides suddenly felt heavy, like he was carrying around someone else on the inside.

There was a knock on the door, and Pugs stood. “Right on time.”

Barnes entered, and trailing behind her was the pale form of Hermione Granger, clutching a small beaded bag for dear life. Her gaze was unsettled, but there was a stubborn set to her chin.

Pugs stuck his hand out. “Miss Granger, it's a pleasure.”

Granger shifted her bag to her left hand before accepting the man's handshake. “Likewise.” She glanced over at Kingsley. She avoided looking at Severus. “Is everything finished here, or...”

Kingsley smiled. “You just need to sign here, then you can go on home.”

Severus took the opportunity to study her as she signed whatever document she needed to officially take over the responsibility of him. She didn't look much different from when he had seen her last; her hair was shorter, though no less bushy, and the Muggle clothes she was wearing looked slightly too big. Had she always looked so frail?

She put down the quill. “There.”

Pugs produced a plush turtle which he placed on the table and tapped with his wand. “Portus.” The turtle glowed yellow for a second before returning to its green colour. He looked at Severus. “It's touch-activated, so whenever you're ready.”

Severus stood, the chair scraping against the linoleum floor. “Granger.”

She smiled nervously. “Sir. Are you ready to leave?”

“Well, I'm not getting any younger.”

Granger stepped forward so they were side by side. “One..”

He reached out and found to his chagrin that his hand was slightly shaking.

“Two...”

The back of her hand was almost as pale as his, and her nails were short and looked like she'd been biting them. How unhygienic.

“Three.”

They grabbed the toy at the same time, and swished away. They landed in what looked like a garage, though there was no car there. Granger smoothed down her hair and picked up the plush turtle, putting it on a shelf next to a power drill.

Severus looked around. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. “Where are we?”

“My parents' house in Kingston Vale.”

He looked over at her and arched an eyebrow. “Where?”

She clutched her beaded bag tighter. “South West London.”

“Ah.”

The silence stretched. It was one of his favourite tactics when dealing with students; stay silent long enough, and they would start talking.

True enough, Granger was the first to break the silence. “Why don't we go into the house? There are some things we should discuss.”

Severus nodded. “By all means, lead the way.”

He followed her to a door at the end of the garage and prepared himself to see what would effectively be his prison for the next six months.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely feedback! 🥰 I read and cherish every comment, so keep them coming!

_Chapter Two_

Every Sunday at 1.30 pm, Hermione Flooed to the office of Dr Elvina Larch, a Muggle-born psychiatrist. She had come highly recommended by the Healer who treated Hermione's injuries after the war, and it had only taken Hermione three months to muster the courage to send her an owl. Since Dr Larch's practice was in Islington, Hermione often stopped by 12 Grimmauld Place afterwards to visit Harry. He was always busy, being knee-deep in Auror training meant that spare time was a rarity. They usually sat in the kitchen drinking tea and talking. Whilst Kreacher had warmed to her a fair amount, he still usually made himself scarce whenever she was around, and she'd not seen him for weeks.

“What's it like? Sharing a house with Snape, I mean,” Harry asked, crumbling a piece of biscuit between his fingers.

Hermione hesitated. “It's only been a couple of days, so I haven't much to say. He keeps mostly to himself, I don't even think I've heard him use the loo.”

Harry shifted on the bench, and the light reflected on his glasses. “You don't suppose he does his business in his room?”

She rolled her eyes. “He's not some wild caveman, Harry. I'm sure he's just feeling very overwhelmed. And who wouldn't be? He doesn't have his magic, and he's stuck in the same house as a former student.” She was sure that Snape had his fair share of issues related to the war, as they all did.

“Right. I didn't think of that.”

Harry smiled crookedly, and she smiled back. Sweet, wonderful Harry. It would take him, and everyone else, a while to heal. The last few months – or years, really – had matured him fast, and he had come out on the other side a bit quieter and more reflective. Hermione was proud of his decision to not share anything of what he saw of Snape's memories in the Pensieve, even with her and Ron. Kingsley had all but pleaded on his knees, saying that without those memories he couldn't guarantee Snape wouldn't spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. Harry had stood firm, offering himself as a witness on Snape's behalf, but he wouldn't divulge the things he'd seen. She respected that. Ron didn't. Her smile fell as she thought of her freckled best friend.

“You all right?”

Hermione blinked, and she was back in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place with Harry looking at her from under a furrowed brow. “I'm fine. Just thinking about Ron.”

Harry's face fell slightly. “Have you heard from him?”

She shook her head. “Not for weeks.”

Ron had become withdrawn over the past months, and spent most of his time with his family. With the exception of Ginny, who was at Hogwarts, all the Weasley children were currently staying at the Burrow. Fred's death had, for understandable reasons, hit the family hard, and Hermione's heart went out to them. She hoped that, with time, they could start to heal.

Sighing, Harry drove a hand through his hair. “I speak with him at training, but it's not...” He blew out air through his nose. “It's not the same.”

“I know. He'll be all right; he has his family.” Hermione eyed him. “How are you doing? Still haven't changed your mind about talking to Dr Larch?”

Harry shrugged. “I'm doing all right. It gets a bit lonely, with Gin at Hogwarts and you and Ron at your places, but it's not too bad. Ginny's coming down for the hols, so I'm looking forward to that. How are your studies going?”

“Not bad,” Hermione said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I'm grateful Professor McGonagall let me study for the NEWTs at home. It's bad enough I have to go there for the practical portion of the classes, I don't think I could bear being back at Hogwarts full time.”

“Me neither,” Harry said. There was a pause. “We'll be all right, though. Won't we?”

She smiled faintly. “Eventually.”

Hermione didn't linger much longer; Harry was expecting a Floo call from Ginny, and Hermione wanted to get back to Snape. It felt cruel to leave him alone for too long. Circe, that made him seem like a cat or something.

Seeing Snape for the first time in months had been a bit of a shock. His long hair still looked oily and he was rail-thin, but he didn't look as jaundiced as before. Not having to serve two Masters was clearly agreeing with him. She wondered if the state of his hair wasn't due to poor hygiene; but rather a proneness to oiliness just as hers was prone to frizz.

He had kept mostly to himself after she showed him around the house, she'd barely caught more than glimpses of him entering or exiting his room. But on the first night she'd been forced awake in the middle of the night by his muffled cries. Leaping out of bed, she'd crept up to his door, wand at the ready. As she'd put her hand on the door he had quieted down, and she heard the rustle of bedsheets. She could imagine him sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands and long hair falling around him like ink. Then the bed-frame had creaked, and she fled back to her room. She didn't want him to catch her lurking outside his door.

Hermione Apparated to the garage and took a minute to compose herself before exiting through the side door. Glancing to the side, she spotted a black-clad figure standing in the garden, his back towards the house. She approached him slowly, the grass crunching underneath her feet. He didn't acknowledge her presence.

“Professor?”

He scoffed, his breath a white cloud in the cold air. “I'm nobody's Professor, Granger.”

She looked down. His black, heavy boots were a stark contrast to her white sneakers on the frosty grass. “I suppose you aren't.”

“Why am I here?”

Hermione's head snapped up. He still wasn't looking at her, and his hair hid most of his face. “Sir?”

“Whilst I am reluctant to admit that you have a sharp brain underneath that mess you call hair, I assume you did not petition to be my minder out of the goodness of your heart.”

“And if I did?”

Snape shifted his head slightly, his eyebrow arching and his lips curling into a sneer. “Then you're more foolish than I thought.” His cloak swished against her legs as he spun around and stalked towards the house.

–

Severus removed his boots and cloak by the back door and went upstairs to the box room where he slept. There was nothing inherently wrong with the room; there was enough space for a single bed, a side table and a narrow dresser. Everything a prisoner would need. Someone (by Merlin, he sincerely hoped it wasn't Granger) had brought over several items of clothing and toiletries from his quarters at Hogwarts. They didn't even fill half of the dresser, and barely one shelf in the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

It was a handsome house; the kind of house he would have felt sorely out of place in as a child. The furniture was tasteful but homely, and plenty of family photos were scattered around showing Granger at various ages with her parents. She had her father's smile, whilst her general build came from her mother. It hadn't taken him long to suss out that the subject of Granger's parents was a sore one, since he'd seen her look longingly at a photograph of them, and there was a fourth door on the first floor which remained closed at all times.

Thinking back, he couldn't remember Dumbledore mentioning her parents, even after he relayed the Dark Lord's plan to have them killed. He assumed the Headmaster had hidden them, since they clearly weren't living there, but he was starting to suspect that was not the case.

Sitting gingerly on the bed, he closed his eyes. It was almost time for his daily potions, and they were far less agreeable on an empty stomach. He'd only eaten sandwiches the past few days, and he was starting to feel it. A proper dinner was sorely required. Bah, that meant he actually had to spend time with Granger. He had hoped to avoid that unpleasantness for at least five and a half more months.

Severus curled his fingers around the edge of the bed and reminded himself that strangling the girl would most definitely get him thrown into Azkaban. He was many things, but he wasn't stupid.

He found Granger in the dining room, pouring over the NEWT level Transfiguration textbook and muttering to herself. He leant against the doorway for a good 30 seconds before she glanced up and jumped.

“Circe, you scared me,” she said, putting down her pencil. “Did you need anything?”

“I don't know about you, but the rest of us need food to survive. Is there any in the house?”

“Oh, it's almost dinnertime? I've been studying; I hadn't noticed.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “If it's not too much to ask, may I request that you don't starve me to death? It would be rather inconvenient, and since I cannot leave to buy food myself, I rely on you for that.” The thought struck him that maybe she didn't have any money. “They _are_ compensating you for your trouble?”

The chair creaked as she shifted. “They are.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And how much am I worth?”

Granger fixed her eyes somewhere by his left shoulder. “I get 90 galleons a week, to cover your room and board.”

“I see.” Right then his stomach growled, and his eye twitched. How undignified. “Do you cook?”

Her eyes snapped to his, and her chin raised. “If you think I'm going to be cooking for you, you are sorely mistaken.”

“That is not...” Severus inhaled deeply through his nose. He must not strangle the girl. “I was merely going to suggest that we prepare dinner together. Or do you not require sustenance?”

She blinked twice. “Oh. All right, then.”

As it turned out, Granger wasn't half bad in the kitchen. He put her on chopping duty, and she sliced and diced the vegetables with as much finesse as she had done ingredients in his Potions classroom. It was rather uncomfortable navigating the small space of the kitchen, and twice he came close to elbowing her in the back. When she reached across him over the worktop he could see the slight shimmer of a glamour on her arm. It was presumably a scar or injury from the battle. Merlin knew he too had enough of those.

They ate at the dining table, and Granger pushed a pile of books out of the way to clear space for him.

Making room for his plate, Severus eyed the titles. “You're studying for your NEWTs?”

“I am.”

Severus speared a piece of carrot with his fork. “Don't tell me you chose to play childminder over going back to Hogwarts? If that's the case I might lose what little respect I have for you.”

The tops of her cheekbones pinkened. “Frankly, it's none of your business.”

Severus turned his attention back to his food. Insufferable child. These six months would be long and miserable if they couldn't even have a conversation like normal people.

They continued eating in silence. She finished her meal before he did, and took her dirty dishes into the kitchen. Then came the sound of porcelain breaking.

He sprung to his feet and raced to the kitchen. A broken plate lay in several pieces on the floor, and Granger sat with her back against the fridge. Spasms wracked her body, and every tendon in her neck stood out.

Falling to his knees by her side – his knee definitely landed in a pile of mashed potatoes – Severus grabbed her shoulders to keep her head from bouncing against the fridge. Tears were streaming down her face.

“What do you need, Granger?”

She opened her eyes, and they were masked with pain. “Muscle relaxant potion,” she stuttered. “Cabinet next to the stove.”

He was reluctant to let go of her. “Accio Potion!” Of course, nothing happened. He swore. Carefully laying her down on the floor, he rose and tore open the cabinet. It was empty. Fuck. He turned back to Granger. “It's empty. Do you keep them anywhere else?”

She whimpered and managed to shake her head, and he swore again. There was only one option left. Bending, he got her in a seated position. Her forehead was shiny with perspiration and pain clouded her features. “Wrap your arm around my neck – there you go – and up.” Grunting, he managed to get them both standing. “I'm going to take you upstairs to the bath. All right?”

The trek upstairs seemed to take hours. Granger wasn't particularly heavy, but she was still twitching and almost smacked him in the face twice. Arm tightly clasped around her waist – he could feel practically each one of her ribs – he opened the taps and turned the temperature to as hot as he could stand. He let out an undignified 'oof' as he lifted her gently and put her in the bath, fully clothed.

She whimpered, and her thrashing sent water over the edge of the tub and drenched his trousers. Once the bath was full, he turned off the taps and ladled water over her neck with his hands.

“Deep breaths, Granger,” he spoke, voice low. “In through the nose, and out through the mouth. That's right. You're doing so well.”

Severus was unsure how long he sat by the side of the bath, speaking low and ladling Granger with water as he let the heat from it penetrate her twitching muscles. When the water started to cool he topped it up with more hot water, and for the first time since his sentence he cursed not being able to use magic. He could help her so much quicker if he had access to his magic. Granger's eyes stayed closed and her mouth open as she breathed deeply. Every now and again her brow would furrow and she would whimper as a larger spasm wracked through her body. How long must she have been under the Cruciatus Curse to still have side effects this bad? With a shudder, he remembered the last time he had been under the Cruciatus Curse; when the Dark Lord regained his body after the Triwizard tournament.

Finally, Granger's spasms stopped. Her breathing had evened out, and he was fairly sure she'd fallen asleep from exhaustion. He didn't blame her.

Severus squeezed her shoulder gently. “Granger, you need to wake up.”

Slowly she opened her eyes.

“Let's get you into bed. Can you stand?”

At her nod, he helped her out of the bath. Her soaked clothes highlighted how thin she was, and he averted his eyes as he handed her a towel. Once she was as dry as she could be, he guided her into her room.Truthfully he hadn't spent much time wondering what Granger's childhood bedroom looked like, but he was still surprised by its clinical appearance. There were few personal touches; only a couple of photographs on the dresser and a wilting plant on the window sill. If not for those – and the Gryffindor scarf hanging off the mirror – the room could have been anyone's.

“Try to get some sleep,” he said as he let go of her elbow. “You're going to feel like shite in the morning; maybe you won't forget to stock up on the potion in the future.”

Exiting, he leant against her closed door. He had just about managed to forget she had been affected by the war too. It was easier to see her as an insufferable know-it-all than a war veteran. He wasn't likely to forget it now. On the other side of the door, he heard her wet clothes hit the floor. That was his cue to leave.

He changed into dry clothes, hanging the wet ones on the shower rail to dry before cleaning up the bathroom. Next, he took care of the mess in the kitchen, and by the time he sank down on the sofa in the dark sitting room, he was exhausted. He closed his eyes with a sigh. How had she managed with the attacks before he came along? Also, it was bloody stupid of her to run out of the only potion that would help. The muscle relaxant potion wasn't too difficult to make, maybe he could...

Severus shook his head. No. He had little money to his name to buy ingredients, and he very much doubted Granger would let him set up a potions lab in her garden shed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments! This chapter made my beta ground me, so do what you will with that information 😬

_Chapter Three_

Hermione avoided Snape for a full week after her attack. The morning after, she had stumbled downstairs early, absolutely exhausted, to find him in the sitting room with a cup of tea and the morning paper. He had looked as uncomfortable as she felt, and she'd quickly made tea and toast and went back to her room. She was angry at herself for running out of the muscle relaxation potion, but it had been months since she had an attack that bad.

Living with Snape wasn't as difficult as she first thought it would be; he didn't use all the hot water, was a decent cook and even did his own laundry ( _I'm half-blood, Granger; I know how to use a bloody washing machine_ ). He now even spent some evenings with her in the sitting room, with a cup of tea and a book, though they didn't speak.

One afternoon in late November, Hermione arrived home from Diagon Alley fuming. Slamming the door was deeply satisfying, as was throwing her scarf and mittens on the floor (even though they made no sound). A chuckle drew her attention.

Snape leant against the doorway to the sitting room, eyebrow arched and mouth twitching.

“What has the poor knitwear done to deserve such a treatment?”

“I'm not in the mood,” she glowered and ripped off her woolly hat. “Slug & Jiggers has increased the price of the muscle relaxation potion. Apparently, there was an article in _Witch Weekly_ that said applying it to one's arse will get rid of cellulite.”

His brow arched higher. “How do they think that'll work?”

“I don't know!” Hermione all but shrieked, then took a deep breath to collect herself. “But demand has gone up, so Mr Aves has increased the price to two galleons a vial. It's preposterous!”

“Indeed,” Snape said. “You could make a full cauldron for the same amount.”

Hermione bit her lip. Could she? No, it was a silly idea.

“I can practically _hear_ your brain working. Just out with it.”

“Could you brew it for me? I'm sure you're feeling idle sitting around all day, and it doesn't require magic to brew. I could set up the shed as a potions lab, and I'll buy all the ingredients you need. Just give me a list.” She trailed off. Snape had gone still. “Or not. It was a silly idea. I just thought-”

He held up a hand. The silence stretched. “That would be acceptable.”

Hermione sighed in relief. “Really? Are you sure? It's not an inconvenience?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “If it was I would have said so. As you said, it's not as if I've some other pressing matter which requires my attention.”

She found herself smiling. “Oh, that's good. It would mean a lot to me.”

Snape snorted and turned back to the sitting room. “Don't oversell it, Granger.”

–

In the end, it was decided that the garage was better suited than the shed; it was properly ventilated for a start, and also a decent size. Some potions tended to be unreliable in magically expanded spaces, and the garden shed was barely big enough to swing a cat in. Not that she would ever test that theory; Crooks would never have approved. Her stomach clenched whenever she thought about her furry familiar. Molly had said that he went quickly; he simply fell asleep one night in front of the fireplace and didn't wake up again.

The next morning Hermione and Snape bundled up against the chilly winds and set to transform the garage into a functional potions lab. Since Hermione had sold her parents' car it was practically empty, and it didn't take them more than half an hour to clear out and shrink the contents (which found a new home in the shed). Snape offered both helpful suggestions and demands on how he would like his lab, and Hermione had to bite her tongue so as not to hex him outright.

After a few hours, Hermione lowered her wand and looked over at Snape. “What do you say? Does it meet your requirements?”

She watched Snape as he surveyed the space. Two long workbenches – transfigured from spare planks from when the garden shed was built – split the room into thirds, and several shelves lined the walls, ready for ingredients. There was still work to be done; her own meagre potions equipment would be brought down, ingredients needed to be bought, and she still had to put up the protective spells.

Snape's face betrayed nothing. “It'll do. What kind of equipment do you have?”

“My school kit. Why?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “You can't brew a muscle relaxation potion in a pewter cauldron. It has to be copper, or the valerian root will burn.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don't have a copper cauldron.”

Snape leant against the worktop and crossed his arms. “Then I can't brew your potion.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

His eyes darkened. “I'm being difficult?” his voice was soft. Uh oh. If there was one thing she knew for sure about Snape, it was that the softer his voice got, the angrier he was. “I would be doing you a favour by brewing this; it's not something I have to do. I don't owe you anything, Granger. You're nothing but an insufferable know-it-all who can't even be trusted to keep herself healthy.”

Something hurt in her chest, below her ribs. “Don't forget that you are here by my decision, and my decision only.” Her voice was cold. “If it weren't for me, you could have been stuck with anyone. I'm sure Charity Burbage's family would have loved to take you in.”

Hermione regretted the words as soon as they came out. Snape's face turned white and he looked as though she'd slapped him. She held her breath. Time seemed to stand still. The wind rattled through the garage door. Snape's mouth opened, then closed. Hermione waited for him to explode, like he'd done the night he got snubbed on an Order of Merlin and Sirius Black escaped the Dementors.

“I-” she started to say, but he swept past her without a word, slamming the door so hard the glass panes rattled.

Hermione felt cold. She let out a frustrated sound. Stupid, stupid, stupid. That was by far the most stupid thing she'd said in a long time. It was a Ron Weasley level of stupid. Charity Burbage's death was on Voldemort, and no one else. She had wanted to hurt Snape, and she clearly had.

She sighed. She needed to apologise. Whether or not he was amenable to her apology was anyone's guess. Pocketing her wand, she went back into the house.

–

When Hermione prepared to leave for Hogwarts the next morning, Snape still hadn't shown his face. It seemed he was avoiding her, which made apologising fairly difficult. She glanced at his closed door before heading downstairs. When she got back, she was going to force him to hear her out. She thought she heard the creak of the stairs as she stepped into the Floo and called out “The Three Broomsticks!”.

She landed in the quiet pub and had to grab the side of the fireplace so as not to lose her balance and fall. Stepping out onto the stone floor, she brushed some ash from her robes.

Rosmerta entered from a back door and smiled. “Good morning, Hermione!”

Hermione smiled tight-lipped. “Morning.”

It was always bittersweet coming up to Hogwarts, but at least she'd stopped having panic attacks. The freezing wind blew directly in Hermione's face as she trekked up to Hogwarts, and once she entered through the main doors she felt like an icicle. A group of students exited the Great Hall, and a redhead broke away from the group and moved towards her.

“Hermione!”

Ginny practically threw herself around Hermione's neck, who stumbled back slightly.

“Hi, Gin.”

“You're freezing,” Ginny said, and with a wave of her wand sent a warming charm Hermione's way.

Hermione smiled. “Thanks.”

They headed to the dungeons along with the rest of the NEWT students from both the seventh and eighth years. Only a handful of students in Hermione's year had chosen to return to Hogwarts full time and some were studying from home like Hermione, so they shared classes with the seventh years. Both Neville and Luna had chosen to come back full time, but neither took Potions with Hermione and Ginny.

The closer they got to the Potions classroom, the harder Hermione's heart slammed in her chest. She wasn't sure why, but nothing spiked her anxiety like Potions class. Professor Slughorn was clearly still only teaching because Professor McGonagall hadn't found anyone else to teach, and he usually spent the entire class slumped in his desk chair. It made her miss having Snape as a teacher, crazy as it may sound.

Once class was over, they went back up to the entrance hall. Ginny had Charms, and Hermione was dreading braving the winds. She may also have been avoiding going home and having to talk to Snape, but she was reluctant to admit it. Potions was her only class on Fridays – on Tuesdays she had Herbology and Defence Against the Dark Arts – and she usually stayed for an extra hour or two to have tea with Hagrid. The poor man had come down with a nasty cold, though, and had barricaded himself in his hut.

“Harry said you're staying with him for the hols,” Hermione said as they reached the Entrance Hall.

Ginny scrunched up her nose and tossed a piece of sleek hair over her shoulder. “I wish. Mum wants me at home, and I can't blame her.” Her brown eyes turned glossy, and she blinked excessively. “Harry's coming over for Christmas day, though. You're coming too, I hope?”

Hermione hesitated. “I'm not sure, yet.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Because of Snape?”

Hermione nodded. “I'd feel bad leaving him all alone on Christmas. It's not like he can go anywhere.”

Ginny touched her arm. “I have to go to class, but we'll talk more about this later, all right?”

Hermione smiled. “Tell Neville and Luna that I said hi.”

With a smile and a wave, Ginny went up the grand staircase. By now the Entrance Hall was empty, and Hermione prepared herself for braving the weather.

Quick footsteps echoed, and someone grabbed her arm. “Excuse me,” a voice said a little breathlessly. It was a student in Gryffindor robes, a first-year by the look of it.

“Yes?”

“Are you Hermione Granger?” he continued, eyes wide. “Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office. The password is _Cranachan_.”

Her stomach tightened. “Oh. Thank you...”

“I'm David.”

She managed a smile. “Thank you, David.”

All sorts of thoughts ran through her head as she walked up towards the Headmistress' office. Was there a problem with her course load? Had they changed the rules so she couldn't study from home anymore?

The door opened before she had the chance to knock. Professor McGonagall's smile was warm as she greeted her. “Hermione, how lovely to see you. Do come in.”

Hermione stepped into the office, stomach in knots. She'd not been in there since the night of the battle – after Voldemort was dead and before a house-elf had delivered a barely alive Snape to the Hospital Wing. It hadn't changed much, except for the tartan upholstering on the armchairs.

“You wanted to see me, Headmistress?”

“Ah, yes.” McGonagall cleared her throat. “Have a seat. Would you care for some tea?”

Hermione, who was by now feeling rather nauseous, declined and sat in the wide wing-backed chair by the desk. She felt as though she was being watched, and glancing up she caught the blue eyes of Dumbledore's portrait. He smiled and nodded at her, and she attempted a smile in return. She was sure it came out more like a grimace.

Professor McGonagall sat behind the desk and looked at Hermione through square spectacles. “How are you, Hermione?”

“I'm well, Professor,” Hermione said, silently wishing that if Professor McGonagall was going to kick her out, she'd get to it sooner rather than later.

“Your professors are telling me that you continue to hand in the excellent work we've come to expect from you. It makes me happy to hear, even though you declined to come back here for regular studies.”

Hermione was starting to get more than a bit confused. “Thank you?”

“I spoke with Kingsley, ah, the Minister the other day,” McGonagall said, straightening her glasses, “and he informed me that you've got a house guest.”

Oh.

Hermione sat up taller in her seat. “I have.”

“And how are you both finding it?”

“It's an adjustment, but we're getting by.”

“I see.” McGonagall looked hesitant, and it threw Hermione off guard. “I would like the opportunity to speak with Severus, if he finds it acceptable. I want to – need to – ask for his forgiveness for my behaviour this past year.” From one of the drawers in the desk she pulled out an envelope. “Would you give this to him?”

Hermione's heart slowed down to something close to normal. “Is that why you wanted to see me?”

McGonagall arched her brow, looked disturbingly like Snape whilst doing so. “What else were you expecting?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly and took the proffered envelope. “I'll be happy to give your message to Professor Snape.”

“Much appreciated,” McGonagall smiled. She glanced out the window. “The weather is ghastly. You're welcome to use my Floo if you're on your way home; saves you a trip outside.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said and stood.

McGonagall nodded. “It's no problem, lass. I'll see you next week.”

Hermione smiled and stepped into the Floo.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments, and as always much love to my beta and alpha for all the love and support.

_Chapter Four_

It was another two days before Hermione got the chance to apologise to Snape. She arrived home early from her session with Dr Larch – Harry was feeling under the weather so she'd Apparated straight home – to find Snape in the kitchen making tea. Moving quickly, she blocked the doorway.

“I've got to talk to you.”

Snape poured milk in his tea, then put the carton back into the fridge. He didn't meet her eyes. When he tried to move past her, she grabbed his sleeve. He flinched so hard that he dropped his mug, spraying their legs and the walls with hot tea.

He hissed, and Hermione jumped back.

“I'm sorry!” She whipped out her wand and Evanescoed the mess, then used Reparo on the mug. “I wanted to apologise... for what I said about Professor Burbage.” She put the repaired mug on the worktop.

He looked down his hooked nose at her but said nothing.

“It was hurtful and untrue, and I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have said it.” She searched his face, but it was blank. “Please forgive me.”

His eyebrow arched. “Why do you crave my forgiveness? I'm but a simple prisoner; you don't owe me anything.”

Hermione's cheeks flushed. “I was angry and said things I didn't mean. It's no excuse, but I'm aware that I made a mistake. I _am_ sorry.” Much to her chagrin, she felt tears well up. Circe, she didn't want to cry in front of him.

Snape sighed. “I accept your apology.”

Hermione blinked twice. He did? “You do?”

He rolled his eyes. “That's what I said, wasn't it?”

She sagged against the wall, relieved. “Thank you, sir. Truly.”

“Don't make a fuss, Granger, and don't call me sir. You owe me a cup of tea. With a splash of milk, please.” Snape stalked past her towards the sitting room.

Hermione found herself smiling as she prepared two cups of tea (with a splash of milk in his). Snarky and dour he may be, but he'd forgiven her. And surprisingly quickly, too. If she was being honest, forgiveness was not a trait she would have associated with him. Grabbing their cups, she went into the sitting room.

He was sunk down in her father's armchair, long fingers steepled underneath his chin. She pushed down the urge to cry and put down their cups on the coffee table. Her parents were gone; she had to accept that.

“Are you still willing to help me brew the potion?” she asked once she was seated on the sofa, legs curled up underneath her.

Snape took a long sip of his tea before answering. “I said I would, so I shall. Provided you can arrange adequate supplies.”

Hermione pushed a strand of her behind her ear. “Ingredients are no problem; I can buy those. I'm not really looking forward to buying a copper cauldron though.”

“Well, I need one.”

She stirred her tea absent-mindedly. Maybe she could ask Professor McGonagall to borrow one? Hogwarts was bound to have spares. And she was sure that Professor Slughorn would be more amenable to her asking than Snape would have been.

Oh.

An idea formed in her mind. She glanced at Snape, who was doing his best to ignore her.

“I'm sure you own a copper cauldron,” she said lightly, feeling anything but light. This had the potential to blow up in her face.

True enough, Snape sneered. “No.”

“You don't own a copper cauldron? I find that hard to believe, a Potions Master of your calibre.”

“I know what you're fishing after – Gryffindors are as subtle as a Hippogriff in a tutu – and the answer is no.”

Hermione slumped slightly in her seat. “Why not?”

His face grew dark. “Because I won't have an insufferable swot rummaging around my house.”

“I don't particularly want to, but it's not as if you can go there yourself. There must be other things you'd like to have from home? I could get them for you.”

“No.”

She let out a frustrated huff. Why did he have to be such a stubborn arse?

Hermione was stewing at his refusal for the rest of the day, even ruining two pieces of parchment in the process as she pushed her quill straight through it in her anger. Snape spent several hours up in his room, and she liked to imagine that he was sulking.

They were having breakfast the next morning – in a tense silence – when he finally spoke.

At length, Snape sighed. “All right.”

Hermione startled, and her spoon clinked against the side of the teacup. “You're actually agreeing?”

“If it will cease this constant maudlin sighing, then yes. There are certain terms you will adhere to.”

She sat up fully, nodding vigorously. “Anything.”

His lips curled into a sneer. “You haven't heard my terms yet.”

Hermione's face flushed. “Right, sorry. Please proceed.”

“I will write you a comprehensive list of what items to get and where you will find them. I recommend you take that beaded bag of yours; you're going to need it.” His finger traced around the rim of his mug while he spoke, which Hermione found surprisingly mesmerising. “I must warn you that my house is heavily warded. I'll need to go over how to dismantle them with you before you leave. Luckily for you, they can sense intention. Since you bear me no ill will, there shouldn't be a problem.”

“And if there is?”

Snape shrugged. “It'll be quick.” He stood. “I'll make a list. You don't want to still be in Cokeworth when it gets dark.” He halted. “And if I find out you've been snooping, which I will, you'll wish the wards would have finished you off.”

Hermione's stomach dropped. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

–

Severus only felt slightly guilty for sending Granger off thinking his wards would cause her fatal harm. They _were_ vicious, but they wouldn't kill her.

Standing in the makeshift potions lab, he ran his hand over the worktop. How long had it been since he brewed anything? With a start, he realised that when he last did, Albus had still been alive. If he was being honest with himself – which he rarely was – he looked forward to being useful again. He hated being idle, and brewing Granger's potion would be a welcome distraction.

Severus recalled the shock on her face when she had brought up Charity Burbage; brown eyes wide, mouth open and skin colourless. It was hard to rattle him, but her comment had done so. Of the people he hadn't been able to save during the war, Charity's death had hit him the hardest; not that he had been able to show it. He wouldn't say that they were close, but she was one of the staff that annoyed him the least. A Pure-blood, she always wanted to bend his ear about one Muggle thing or another.

Maybe, in another lifetime, they could have been friends.

The ferocity of Granger's apology had surprised him; Severus had spent enough time around Gryffindors to know that they rarely admitted their mistakes and seldom apologised. He told himself it wasn't the stricken look on Granger's face which made him accept her apology, but the memory of standing outside the Gryffindor common room in the middle of the night pleading for Lily Potter's forgiveness. No matter how much he apologised and grovelled she wouldn't forgive him, and their friendship was beyond repair.

Not that he and Granger were friends, but there was no use holding grudges. Especially since he had the majority of his sentence left to serve.

The crack of Apparition barely made him flinch, and neither did the sight of a slightly dishevelled Granger. She was clutching that bloody beaded bag – it really was ghastly – for dear life, and her eyes were slightly red. Had she been crying?

“Did you get everything?”

Nodding, Granger smoothed down her hair and put the bag up on the worktop. “Yes. I didn't put up new wards, but they seemed to reseal themselves as I was leaving.”

“As good wards should. I expected you to know that, but it seems I was mistaken. You haven't even had the good sense to ward your home.”

Granger looked hesitant. “I've got a half dozen wards on the house and garden. Can't you feel them?”

Severus tried to tap into his magic, to reach out and caress the wards. But there was nothing. It would seem the suppression cuff around his right wrist was working as intended.

His jaw clenched. “I'll take your word for it. Are you going to open that bloody bag or are we going to be standing here all day?”

She winced. “Sorry.” Opening the bag, she shoved her entire arm into it.

Severus watched amused as she pulled out item after item from his list onto the table. His cheeks flushed when, attached to a silver stirring rod, hung a pair of knickers. He swiftly looked away, and from the corner of his eye he saw Granger grab them and shove them back into the bag. Her face was red.

She cleared her throat. “Right, I think that's everything.” Then she seemed to catch herself. “Oh wait, I almost forgot.” She took out a slightly wrinkled envelope and put it on the worktop next to the brass scales. “Professor McGonagall wanted me to give this to you.”

Severus arched a brow. “It's been days since you were at Hogwarts, and you're just giving this to me now?”

Her face darkened slightly. “I would have given it to you sooner, but you weren't speaking to me. I'll start dinner.” She stalked into the house, giving Severus the impression that he'd offended her somehow.

He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Insufferable know-it-all.”

–

The envelope sat on his dresser for a few days before Severus could get himself to open it. The contents of the letter inside weren't surprising (I am sorry for doubting you, I should have known, can you ever forgive me?) but he had yet to decide what to do with it. In the end, he penned a simple note saying “I'll contact you” and asked Granger to deliver it on her next visit to Hogwarts.

She had another attack that night – thankfully a lesser one than the last time – and it made Severus angry at himself that he hadn't yet started brewing her potion. He rectified that immediately: locking himself away in the garage, brewing and experimenting. He was mindful of his lack of magic and didn't try anything too adventurous, as he was sure Granger would have a lot to answer for if he managed to blow himself up.

One Friday in early December he was reading the morning paper when Granger arrived back from Hogwarts (he seemed to recall she had Potions on Fridays). She didn't get the Daily Prophet, which didn't bother him in the slightest, but a Muggle newspaper was delivered through the letterbox every morning. He enjoyed keeping up with the Muggle news, though it seemed little of interest was happening.

“Has anything worth noting happened since yesterday?” Granger asked, pulling on thick woollen socks before plonking down on the sofa, book in her hand. Her cheeks and nose were pink from being outside in the cold, and her hair seemed bushier than ever.

“John Pople has won the Nobel Prize in chemistry for his development of computational methods in quantum chemistry,” Severus answered, not looking away from the paper. “And there's an octopus at the Bristol Aquarium that can do maths.”

Granger snorted. “That's quite a broad variety of events. Is there a picture of the octopus?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “And I suppose your reading material is more interesting?”

Granger held up her book. On the drawn cover were two men about to duel, dressed in top hats and tailcoats. “It came out last week. It's about two friends who make a euthanasia pact – to kill the other if they would ever get a terminal illness. It's really interesting, you should read it.”

His brows rose towards his hairline. “I've had quite enough of euthanasia, thank you very much.”

Her face lost its colour, which in another situation could have been comical. “Circe, I am so sorry! I wasn't thinking, and-”

“You seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

Her face changed from white to pink. “I'm sorry.”

“And stop apologising!” Severus sighed and lowered the paper. “Salazar's saggy ballsack, you are a complete disaster.”

Granger's eyes flashed with anger. “I'm trying to not say or do anything that would upset you, but it's not easy and I'm trying my best.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just say whatever it is you want to say; I survived serving under the Dark Lord for almost twenty years, I'm sure I'll recover from whatever it is you wish to ask.”

She bit her lip, seemingly contemplating what she wanted to ask him first. He would humour her, but had no intention of actually answering any of her questions.

Finally, she spoke. “How did you keep going after Dumbledore's death? When You-Know-Who had taken control of the Ministry and everything seemed so bleak?”

Oh. That was unexpected.

Severus realised he was unsure of how to answer that. Although he'd had plenty of time for introspection whilst at St Mungo's, it wasn't something he was well practised in. The truth was, he hadn't had any other choice. Failure was not an option.

“By reminding myself I had a duty – to my students and to Albus.” And to Lily, but Granger didn't need to know that.

Granger smiled sadly. “I tried to tell myself that too; that we had a purpose. It didn't always make it any easier, especially when it's the middle of winter and you've not eaten for three days.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Food was scarce most of the time. We didn't dare venture into Muggle villages too often, even under the Invisibility cloak.”

“I see.” Severus wasn't sure what to do with that information. He had no idea things had been that bad. They were only children, they shouldn't have to go through things like that. It also explained her too thin frame.

Granger looked away, and her hand rubbed her left sleeve. “Plenty of people had it worse. I'm very fortunate to have come out alive and unhurt.”

Relatively unhurt, Severus thought.

He'd seen how she gripped her beaded bag until her knuckles were white, and he was fairly sure she had a silencing charm on her room. No one who had gone through what she had gone through would come out of it completely unscathed. His suspicions were proven true that night when he went up to use the loo after a nightmare at some godforsaken time in the morning, and saw light underneath her door.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

Hermione sat down, crossed one knee over the other and clasped her hands together in her lap.

Dr Elvina Larch smiled, showing off her perfectly straight, white teeth.

As the daughter of dentists, teeth were something that Hermione often found herself looking at. Harry's teeth were small and a little discoloured, and Ron had pointy canines. Snape's teeth were fairly crooked, and while they _were_ discoloured, she'd seen worse. Why hadn't he ever brewed a teeth whitening potion? On the other hand, with what she knew about him she highly doubted he cared about his appearance enough to do so.

Going to Spinner's End and seeing how her former Professor had grown up had been a shock. She had dismantled the wards per Snape's instruction and stepped over the threshold with trepidation. The small, dark and neglected sitting room had taken her aback. It was worlds away from her middle-class upbringing. The further into the house she went, not daring to touch anything that wasn't on the list Snape had provided, the more her heart hurt for him. Before leaving, she had sunk down on the worn sofa and allowed herself to cry before returning to London.

“Hermione, are you all right?”

Pulling herself out of her head (and the thought of teeth), Hermione smiled faintly. “Sorry.”

Dr Larch tilted her head slightly. This move was usually a precursor to her asking something that Hermione didn't feel like answering. “You seemed fairly engrossed in whatever was on your mind. Care to share?”

Hermione sighed, knowing that it wasn't so much a question but a demand. “I was thinking about Snape.”

“Ah, yes. How does it feel having him in the house now that you've had some time to adjust? It has been about a month, correct?”

Hermione nodded. “A month, yes. It feels all right, I suppose. We've managed some sort of routine to give each other space, since I'm not much out of the house either. We eat together, mostly, and we're usually in the sitting room together in the evenings.”

Dr Larch wrote something down in the notepad on her lap, then put the pen down and looked back at Hermione. “What do you talk about? You've said before he can be quite taciturn.”

Shrugging, Hermione averted her eyes to the large print of a lilac tree on the wall. “A bit of this and that. Nothing personal.”

Most of their conversations consisted of her trying to be friendly and him insulting her, but Larch didn't need to know that. Funnily enough, Snape's insults were starting to lose their effect on her. Hermione made a note to think about that more later when she was alone.

“Have you brought up why you petitioned to be his minder?”

“Should I?”

Dr Larch sighed. “You know you're not supposed to answer my question with another question.”

“Sorry.” Hermione ran a hand through her hair, flinching when her fingers caught a tangle. “I haven't brought it up, yet. I plan to, I just haven't found the right time.” Or the courage. “I know what you're going to say,” she added quickly. “I've manifested the guilt I feel over what happened to my parents into a saviour complex regarding Snape, and by not talking about it I'm clinging to that guilt and not allowing myself to heal.”

Dr Larch smiled. “That is a very astute observation.”

Hermione shrugged. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

“All right. How are you sleeping?”

When Hermione walked out of the office 40 minutes later, she was exhausted. The therapy sessions usually did that to her, and she was very much looking forward to a nice cup of tea and a nap. The tea was an easy fix but the nap would have to wait, as Harry was expecting her. Closing her eyes, she focused hard on Grimmauld Place and turned on the spot.

She reappeared on the stoop, slightly dizzy, and grabbed the railing to steady herself. Before she could knock, the door opened and Harry's form appeared.

He grinned widely and reached for her arm. “I thought I heard you arrive! Come in. It's bloody freezing outside.”

Hermione didn't walk as much as she was dragged inside, and before she knew it, Harry had enveloped her in a tight hug. A pungent smell filled Hermione's nostrils, and when she pulled back she noticed that his face, hair and shirt were splattered with white paint.

“Harry, have you been painting?” she asked, pulling off her coat and gloves.

He gave her a sheepish smile and ran a hand through his hair, causing small white flecks to rain down like snow. “Uh, yeah, I have. I'm redecorating.”

“Redecorating?” Hermione echoed.

He nodded. “This place is pretty depressing, and since I live here I wanted to make it feel a bit more cheerful. So I bought maybe 15 cans of paint, and when I'm done with that I'll get some new furniture. Some pieces need to be thrown out, but some just need a good transfiguration.”

“Have you forgotten that you're a wizard? It would take you less than ten minutes to change every wall in the house.”

Harry shrugged. “Not everything is better done with magic. It's quite fun. Painting, I mean. Come, look at what I've done so far.”

Hermione followed him upstairs and had to admit that it looked great. The drawing room and bedroom on the first floor now had clean, crisp white walls instead of the mangy damask that was there before – though he was undecided whether or not he wanted to keep all the walls white – and after showing her those two rooms he led her to the upper floors, enthusiastically talking about how he was planning on changing the spaces. It warmed Hermione's heart to see Harry so animated, although she had a sinking feeling he was using redecorating as a distraction. He was good at repressing things, but she would get him to open up about them if it was the last thing she did. She'd kept him alive for this long; this would be a piece of cake in comparison.

They finished down in the kitchen, where he also had great plans.

“I was thinking of just gutting the whole kitchen and fitting in a new one,” Harry said as he put the kettle on, “but I haven't the foggiest on how to do that, and it's really expensive.”

“I'm sure it'll be great, Harry,” Hermione smiled, leaning her elbow on the table.

He smiled and put down two cups on the table. “Thanks. I just want it to feel like _my_ home, you know?” He turned to fetch the shrieking kettle. “Not like I'm living in someone else's house.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “Yes, I know.”

Now facing her, he flinched. “Bugger. Sorry, Hermione.”

As he poured their tea, she waved his apology off. “It's all right.”

They drank their tea in silence, though Hermione's mind was racing. Her talk with Snape a few days ago had been on her mind constantly. There was so much she didn't understand about Snape's role in the war. That he was on the side of light was indisputable, but there were other things that didn't make any sense to her. She didn't dare ask Snape; it would most definitely destroy whatever tentative friendship they had developed.

Once her mug was half empty, Hermione spoke. “Hey Harry, can I ask you something?” When Harry nodded, she continued. “It's about what you saw in the Pensieve. Snape's memories.”

Harry rubbed his scruffy chin. “I'm sorry, Hermione. They're not my memories to share, even with you. Maybe especially with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Since he's staying with you, it wouldn't be fair to him for you to know these things about him that he didn't choose to tell.” He looked pensive for a moment. “I don't think he expected to survive the war, otherwise I don't think he would have given me the memories in the first place. The least I can do is to keep them private.”

“I wasn't asking to see them,” Hermione defended herself. “I was just...” she looked down. “Never mind.”

Harry tilted his head. “Could you do something for me?”

“Of course, what is it?”

Harry rose. “Hold on.”

He disappeared upstairs and came back a few minutes later with something in his hands. Putting it down on the table, Hermione saw it was a small wooden box.

“It's Snape's memories. Would you give them back to him?”

Hermione nodded. “I'm sure he'll be happy to have them back.”

Harry grimaced. “I'm not so sure about that.”

–

When the crack of apparition filled the garage, Severus didn't flinch. He continued slicing the valerian root and then checked the thermometer on the cauldron. Hmm, not quite there yet. It was another minute before he realised that Granger hadn't spoken, nor moved since arriving. He hoped she hadn't splinched herself – his Muggle healing skills were very rusty. Was there something one should do whilst singing about an elephant?

He looked up to find her staring at him. More specifically, at his arms. The garage grew warm whilst brewing, and he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. On one forearm; the grey faded form of the Dark Mark, on the other; the slim suppression cuff. Putting the knife down, he turned away and hastily rolled down his sleeves.

Granger cleared her throat. “Harry says hi.”

“Does he now?” Severus picked up another root, slicing it precisely five millimetres thick. Any thicker, and it wouldn't absorb into the potion correctly.

“He wanted me to give you this.”

She placed something on the worktop, and Severus turned his head slightly. It was a box; rectangular and made of dark wood. It looked unassuming, but he knew that looks could be deceiving.

“And what is it? The remainder of Potter's sanity?”

He practically heard her roll her eyes, and she huffed. “No. It's your memories.”

Severus clenched his jaw. “I see. I suppose you got a good laugh about the sad existence of your former Professor.”

“I haven't watched them.”

He stopped chopping, and his eyes snapped to hers. “You expect me to believe that?”

Granger shrugged and blew away a stray curl from her face. “You may believe what you want, but it's the truth. Harry refused to show them to anyone; not even to Kingsley when he wanted them for your trial.”

Putting down the knife, Severus carefully picked up the box and put it up on the shelf on the wall. He didn't expect to get them back – had in fact almost forgotten about them altogether. Now that he had them, he wasn't sure what to do with them. Putting them back inside his head – where he supposed they belonged – seemed to be the most logical option.

“What does it feel like, extracting memories? Does it leave a gap in your brain, or...”

“The extracting itself feels not unlike a slight tickle, but inside your head.” He lowered the flame underneath the cauldron. “As for what is left...” he sighed and leant back against the worktop. “The memory is still there, but much fainter and not as detailed. A bit like the four primary colours versus a full-colour spectrum; the biggest pieces are still there, but everything else is muddy.”

“What about the emotions you felt during those moments? Are they gone too?”

Severus shook his head. “It's the same way; the details are extracted, leaving the bigger picture behind.”

Granger got a faraway look in her eyes. “If you were to put all those memories back at once, what would that do to you?”

He frowned. “It all depends on the nature of the memories; you'll experience the emotions again as the memories are inserted. Regardless of the nature of the emotions, it'll most likely be painful and overwhelming.”

“Oh.” She chewed on her thumbnail, and Severus wrinkled his nose. Such a disgusting habit. “I need to finish writing a paper for Charms, then I was thinking we could do a take away for dinner? I don't feel like cooking.”

“Why?”

Granger blinked twice. “Because I'm tired?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “No, you foolish girl. Why are you studying for your NEWTs at home and not at Hogwarts? I didn't expect those two idiots you call friends to finish their schooling, but I had higher hopes for you.”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Looked away, and looked back. “I was planning to, just after the war. There was no doubt in my mind.” She exhaled slowly. “Then things happened, and I found I could no longer bear it.”

The silence stretched.

“Could you?” Granger finally said.

“I do not know,” Severus admitted.

“No one blames you, sir.” She attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “Let me know when you're ready for dinner.”

Now left to his solitude, Severus rubbed his neck. The box containing his memories seemed to be mocking him from its place on the shelf, and he resisted the urge to throw it against the wall. Of what use would those memories be to him? Even without the full memory lodged in his brain, he could remember standing in front of Albus and wishing he were dead. He remembered the devastation, the sorrow, the anger.

He scrubbed his hand over his face. Merlin, he was getting morose in his old age. Never mind that he wasn't even forty; he felt like a hundred. Maybe after his sentence was served he could do whatever young people did these days, to counteract the feeling. Or he could move to a cottage in Ireland and never talk to another living soul again. Yes, that sounded more pleasant. He chuckled to himself and continued with Granger's potion.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so behind on answering comments, but I read, love and cherish them all ✨🙌🏻

_Chapter Six_

Severus was fidgeting. It was hard to tell because his fidgeting was unlike other people's fidgeting. But he was.

After breakfast he took his daily dose of medicinal potions – they tasted worse with every passing day – and attempted to read the morning paper. Attempted, because he glanced over the page at the clock every other minute and his right eye would not stop twitching no matter how sternly he told it not to.

Minerva was coming over.

It was the first day of the Christmas holidays and Granger had (thankfully) made herself scarce for the occasion. This would most likely be awkward enough with him having to worry about Granger overhearing things he didn't want her to.

At precisely 11 am, a whoosh came from the fireplace, and Minerva appeared. She looked years older than when he saw her last; her black hair was in its usual severe bun but was partially streaked with grey, and he didn't remember there being so many lines around her eyes.

Putting down the paper, Severus rose. “Minerva,” he said with a curt nod.

“Severus,” she replied, then looked around. “Is Miss Granger out?”

“She is,” he confirmed. “Would you care for some tea?”

Minerva gave a hint of a smile. “Please.”

When Severus came back into the sitting room with the tea tray, Minerva sat rigidly on the sofa, hands clasped in her lap. It gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction to see her look so uncomfortable.

Sitting, Severus fixed Minerva's tea – half a teaspoon of sugar, no milk – before pouring his own and leaning back in his seat. He tried not to fidget underneath her stare; having her study him in such a manner made him feel like he was a student again.

She tried a smile. “You look good.”

Severus snorted. “You look old. Is it the Board of Governors or the teachers that are running you ragged?”

Minerva huffed. “I see you haven't lost your cheek. It's no walk in the park, that's for sure.”

Stirring his tea, Severus smirked sardonically. “I am well aware.”

“Severus,” her voice was tense and her eyes bright, “I don't know how I can ever earn your forgiveness. I'm ashamed that I questioned your allegiance. I should have known.”

He shook his head. “You weren't meant to know. I do not blame you.”

“I do!” she said fiercely. “I blame myself, and I blame Albus! What was he thinking? Asking that of you, knowing that everyone on our side would hate you?” She took a deep breath. “I've got a mind to resurrect him just so I can kill him myself!”

Severus sipped his tea, knowing that it was better to let Minerva run out of steam than to interrupt her.

“It was such a brilliant act,” she continued, “taking full control over the school. It was to control the Carrows, wasn't it? By forcing all of us to submit our curriculums you could make sure theirs didn't do too much harm. And the same with the punishments.”

“It was.” He ran his finger around the rim of his mug. “Unmitigated control was the only way I could keep the students safe.”

“And we fought against you every step of the way,” Minerva's voice was suspiciously wobbly. “If I had known...”

“It was best that you didn't.”

Minerva sighed. “You can be as stubborn as a garden gnome.”

Severus chuckled. “You should know.”

Her eyes shifted to his arm. The right one, for a change. “How are you doing, Severus? Really?”

“Just fantastic. Had I known being a convict would be this relaxing I might have pushed Albus off the Astronomy Tower years ago.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do be serious, boy. I cannot imagine losing my magic, even temporarily.”

Severus sipped his tea. He hadn't allowed himself to think too much about that. If he did, he feared he would find it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. “I can think of worse punishments,” he finally said.

“Before I forget.” Minerva rummaged through her bag and pulled out a miniature stone bowl, which she placed on the coffee table. A flick of her wand and the Pensieve expanded to its full size. “You can send it back with Miss Granger when you're finished.”

“I'm sure she'll be happy with the task.”

“How are you faring living together?”

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her attempt at small talk. “It has been agreeable so far.”

“I was concerned she'd get on your nerves after a day or two and you'd demand they send you to Azkaban,” Minerva said with a chuckle.

Severus' eye twitched.

–

Hermione's eye twitched.

She must have been mad to do her shopping the weekend before Christmas. It was truly a horrible idea. Truth be told, she'd forgotten all about Christmas until Ginny reminded her during their last Herbology class of the term. She had chosen today mostly because Professor McGonagall was coming over to visit Snape and she wanted to give them as much privacy as she could. Hermione pushed her way through a group of children that looked too young to be left unsupervised and opened the heavy wood door. Slug & Jiggers was empty, but at the sound of the bell a short man with thinning brown hair popped his head out from a side door.

“Miss Granger! How lovely to see you.” Mr Aves wiped his hands on a towel clipped to his apron. “You'll be wanting the muscle relaxation potion, I suppose?”

“No, thank you.”

Mr Aves, who was already reaching for a blue glass bottle, froze.

“I'm here for ingredients,” Hermione said, producing the list Snape had given her this morning and putting it on the counter.

Mr Aves put on a pair of gold-framed glasses and studied the list. Then he looked at Hermione, expression blank. “You're doing your own brewing? The muscle relaxation potion is no easy feat to take on.”

Hermione raised her chin. “I have help, should I need it. My ingredients, please.”

Mr Aves straightened up. “Of course, Miss Granger. I won't be a moment.”

Less than five minutes later Hermione left the apothecary with a lighter purse and a heavier bag. Mr Aves seemed quite keen to be rid of her, and she was equally as happy to leave. Pulling on her gloves, she started walking down Diagon Alley.

Ginny's present was the only one left to get – and she had almost decided to go into Muggle London for that – but it was still too early to go home. She had time to go over to Flourish and Blotts, just for a little browse.

One of the display windows was completely covered in books and large photographs, signalling a new release. Hermione quickened her step. As she came close enough to properly see them, her stomach dropped. The moving photographs depicted a blonde woman with pencil-thin eyebrows and jewelled glasses winking and smirking at the camera. Green block letters said 'Rita Skeeter's boldest book yet'. Hermione's eyes fell on the book cover, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. Snape was scowling at her from the photograph, lips curling in a sneer over his crooked teeth. His arms were folded over his chest, and he looked like he wanted to curse whoever was looking at him.

The text SNAPE: SCOUNDREL OR SAINT? was printed in spiky letters over his chest.

Hermione saw red. Rita Skeeter had been suspiciously quiet since the war, and this seemed to be the reason. Fingers clenching, she had half a mind to march over to the Daily Prophet and tell that bloody Skeeter woman exactly where she could shove that quick-quotes quill she was so fond of.

She inhaled sharply. No. Mustn't do anything rash. Like her dad used to say; the best defence is a good offence. Bracing herself, she entered Flourish & Blotts. The entire right side had been overtaken by Rita's new book, and a few people were milling around the piles of books and talking in hushed tones.

Picking up a copy, Hermione studied the cover. When had this picture been taken? He really looked terrible, with sallow skin and dark circles underneath his eyes. She thought of him standing over a cauldron in her garage – lank hair pushed behind his ear, black eyes focused on preparing ingredients. She hardly recognised the man on the cover.

She reluctantly parted with her galleons at the till – taken from her account and not the money for Snape's upkeep, thank you very much – and shrank the book before stuffing it into her beaded bag. Mood spoiled by Rita bloody Skeeter, Hermione decided to just go home. She could pick up Ginny's present another day; Christmas wasn't for another week.

Snape wasn't in the garage nor the sitting room when she arrived home, and when she walked upstairs to put away her purchases she heard the shower running. For some reason, this made her blush. Hermione obviously knew he showered, but knowing and seeing was quite different. Her blush deepened. Sweet Circe. Not seeing, nope, no seeing at all.

Putting the presents on her desk – and reminding herself to pick up some wrapping paper with Ginny's present – she took out Snape's ingredients as well as the book. She sighed. What should she do about the book? He deserved to know about it, and preferably sooner rather than later.

The shower turned off, and Hermione hurried downstairs. She was preparing lunch – beans on toast – when Snape came downstairs. His hair was damp, and when he reached past her to grab a glass there was a whiff of something herbal and distinctly male. She bent further over the hob, hoping the heat from the beans would mask her flushed face.

Snape cleared his throat. “Minerva sends her regards and wishes you a happy holiday.”

“That's nice of her,” Hermione said, plating their lunch. “Cheese?”

“Please.”

Cheese grated and melting on his plate, they relocated to the dining room. Though still largely covered in books and parchment, there was enough space for them to sit comfortably at the table.

“It's Christmas next week,” Hermione said after a few minutes of silent eating.

Snape didn't look up from his plate. “So it would seem.”

Hermione speared a bean with her fork and pushed it around in the sauce. “I've been invited to the Burrow for Christmas day.”

“Have you now?”

“I'm not sure I'm going.”

He said nothing.

“I don't want you to be alone here on Christmas.”

Snape finally looked up at her, black eyes slightly narrowed. “I'm not a child, Granger. I've spent more Christmas Days alone than you've had Christmas Days in your life.”

She blinked, startled by the quick turn of his temper. “Oh. I'm sorry.”

“For what?” he sneered. “Aren't the holidays a time to be with family? I haven't got one of those, so why should I care?”

Her fork clanged against the plate as she dropped it. “I was only trying to be nice!”

“If you're so concerned about family, why aren't you spending it with your parents? Do they find you as annoying as I do and are staying as far away as they can?”

Hermione rose hastily, her chair scraping against the floor. Hot rage burned inside her, and tears burnt in her eyes. She wanted to say something in return, something so scalding it would make him owl Kingsley and beg to be sent to Azkaban. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Before she broke down completely, she stormed out of the room, grabbing her coat before going to the fireplace and calling out “The Leaky Cauldron!”

–

Bugger.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd gone and done it now, hadn't he?

He looked at the empty chair Granger no longer occupied, her plate still half full and fork lying on the table. He'd had his suspicions about the fate of Granger's parents, and whilst he wasn't sure exactly what was going on, it was clear it wasn't anything good.

His lunch tasted like ashes, and he only managed a few bites before taking both his and Granger's plates back into the kitchen and dumping the food in the bin. He cleaned up with jerky movements, and the plates clinked against the sink. Hands slippery with soap, he dropped one and it broke neatly in half. He resisted the urge to smash the pieces onto the floor.

Severus gripped the worktop tightly and hung his head. None of this was her fault. She didn't know about his hatred for the holiday. She didn't know that the last time he had someone to spend Christmas with, he'd been younger than she was now. During his final year at Hogwarts – Tobias had been gone for months – he'd spent Christmas with his mam at Spinner's End. Two months later Eileen had been dead and he'd offered his services to the Dark Lord. The Christmases at the castle had been filled with people but felt no less alone, and the previous year he had forgotten about the holiday altogether until someone delivered a box of Thestral shit to his chambers.

He sighed and headed towards the garage. He better make himself useful until Granger came back.

As always when he was brewing, the time got away from him. When he'd finished cleaning the last cauldron it was late and his back ached. So did the scarred side of his throat, but he was so used to that it barely bothered him anymore. Entering the house, he frowned. The sitting room was empty, and her coat still missing from its usual hook. He frowned. She'd been gone for hours. Why wasn't she back yet? Had something happened to her?

Severus started pacing. His options were limited since he couldn't leave the house. Was he able to use the Floo? He could send a note to – he shuddered – Potter, asking if he knew where Granger was. Of course, with his luck, Potter would come through the Floo to hex him for upsetting her.

Fuck it, it was worth the risk.

He strode towards the fireplace but halted when it turned green. With a whoosh, Granger appeared. She looked startled to see him. For a moment, neither moved nor spoke. She moved first, stepping into the sitting room and removing her coat.

“I'm off to bed,” she said flatly as she moved past him.

He followed her into the hallway. “Granger, wait.”

She sighed and hung up her coat, still not meeting his eyes. “I'm tired.”

“Please.”

Granger stopped, leant against the stair railing and crossed her arms over her chest. “What?”

“I apologise,” he said stiffly.

Raising her chin, she met his gaze defiantly. “There's no excuse for what you said.” Her face was drawn, and he silently wondered if that was his fault. Most likely it was, and it made him feel worse than he imagined. “I understand that this is a difficult situation for both of us, but I will not tolerate you speaking to me like that. You know better.”

“I do.” He hesitated. “Granger, where are your parents?”

Granger scrubbed her hand over her face, then sighed and closed her eyes. Severus stood silent, waiting for her to get her words together.

“Shortly after Dumbledore's death,” she spoke slowly, as if she was still trying to find the words. “I realised that my parents would become targets because of me. I begged them to leave, go anywhere that wasn't here until it was safe to return. They refused.” Here she paused, looked away and inhaled sharply. When she looked back, her eyes were glassy. “I used a memory charm to remove all trace of me from their lives. I gave them new names, new memories that convinced them their life long dream was moving to Australia. They left only two weeks before the Ministry fell.”

Severus' blood boiled. He had told Albus time and time again that the Dark Lord was planning on targeting Granger's parents. Why hadn't there been any protective detail for them? It shouldn't have been surprising; Albus only cared about people he could use for his own means.

“Are they still in Australia?” he found himself asking.

Granger nodded. “I went to get them a few weeks after the battle with Professor Flitwick and an Obliviator from the Ministry. We tried to reverse the charm, but...”

“You were unsuccessful?”

She nodded again, and a few tears fell from her eyes. She quickly brushed them away and averted her gaze. “The Obliviator said that more than one attempt could result in permanent brain damage. I couldn't do that to them. They are happy in Australia, and that is all I want for them.”

“You did what you had to.” Severus sighed. “A plan had already been made to have your parents killed; it was good you got them away when you did. It saved their lives. It's a small comfort, but maybe it could give you some peace of mind.”

Her lips curled into a hint of a smile. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It was nothing.”

Her brown eyes were warm. “It wasn't nothing. I think I'm going to head off to bed. Good night, Snape.”

“Good night, Granger.” Severus watched her go upstairs, then headed back into the sitting room. He sank down on the sofa and rested his arm over his eyes. The ramifications of Albus' actions – or inactions – seemed never-ending. Had he taken Severus' warning seriously, Granger would still have her parents in her life. Where that would leave him, he wasn't sure, but it would hardly have mattered.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

“You're staying over for Christmas, then?” Ron asked, shoving a handful of salt and vinegar crisps into his mouth. The four of them – Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny – sat in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place a few days before Christmas.

“Coming over, not staying over,” Hermione clarified and reached for another piece of chocolate. “I'll be there bright and early Christmas Day.”

Ron frowned and wiped the grease off his fingers on his trousers. “Why aren't you staying over? You always stay over.”

Hermione scratched her nose. “I just feel like I need to be at home. Besides, it's going to be a tight squeeze anyway, with everyone being at the Burrow. I'll be there in time for breakfast, I promise.”

“What about Snape?” Harry asked, looking up from where he was playing with a strand of Ginny's hair. “What's he doing?”

She shrugged. “What he usually does, I suppose.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, it's not like he can go anywhere.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked over at Ginny, who was staring into the fireplace with a frown. “Ginny, you okay?”

There was no reaction.

Harry nudged his girlfriend's shoulder. “Gin.”

Ginny startled slightly and turned her head towards them, causing her hair to slide from Harry's fingers. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked. She had noticed a change in her friend's behaviour over the past weeks; she was quieter and a bit spacey.

Ginny sat up fully. “I'm fine,” she snapped.

A tense silence filled the room, but for the crackling of the fire and the creaking of an old house.

“I'm thinking of having people over for New Year's,” Harry said, eyes flickering over to Ginny who once again seemed lost in thought.

“I think that's a great idea,” Hermione said with forced enthusiasm, eyes flickering from Ginny to Harry. “Who are you inviting?”

“I'm not sure.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “People from Hogwarts?”

“Some from Auror training too,” Ron interjected.

Harry nodded, slinging his arm over the back of the sofa. “Yeah, sure.”

“I'll tell Neville and Luna,” Ginny said, shifting to lean her back against the armrest. “And maybe some other people who are still at Hogwarts?”

“Sounds good.” Harry smiled. “Who wants to help me finish painting the place before the party?”

They groaned collectively.

–

Hermione spent the days leading up to Christmas reading and drinking hot chocolate – except for one regretful afternoon when she ventured into Muggle London to buy Ginny's present. Snape spent the majority of his time out in the garage and only returned inside in the evening with pink cheeks from the chill and smelling of herbs and smoke.

She hadn't planned on decorating much for Christmas – it felt too painful to get out the decorations without her parents – but after what Snape had shared about his past Christmases, she decided they both needed some holiday cheer. Though not nearly as elaborate as the decorating at Hogwarts, she spent a few hours putting up the tree and glass figurines her mother had been so fond of. It did make her feel better seeing the familiar decorations in the fake tree (her father was extremely allergic to pine) and the angels and little Santa Clauses on the mantle. When he came into the house that night, Snape looked at the decorations but said nothing. She expected nothing else from him.

They had tentatively resumed their friendship after the argument on Saturday night, and by Christmas Eve they were back to discussing literature and bickering about the proper way to organise a library. They ate shepherd's pie and watched It's a Wonderful Life on the telly – though both agreed it was highly overrated – and Hermione couldn't help but think of Christmas the previous year.

Going to Godric's Hollow and seeing the Potter's house in ruins. Then Bathilda Bagshot and narrowly escaping Nagini. She recalled her hands shaking and the smell of burning flesh as she'd peeled the locket from Harry's chest. She went to bed on Christmas Eve with the sight of Nagini wriggling out of Bathilda's corpse burnt into her mind.

She only managed a few hours of restless sleep and it was barely morning when she stumbled out of bed. Hermione wrapped her thick dressing gown around her, pulled on a pair of wool socks and padded downstairs. The house was cloaked in darkness but for the lights from the Christmas tree in the sitting room, which cast a warm glow. It made Hermione smile, but her smile faltered slightly when she realised there was a dark form on the sofa.

“Snape?”

A table lamp flickered on, revealing Snape – who was wearing the same clothes as he did before she went to bed. He looked tired, with dark smudges underneath his eyes. “I hope I didn't wake you?”

She smiled slightly. “Not at all. Happy Christmas, Snape.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Happy Christmas, Granger. When are you due at the madhouse?”

Hermione blinked twice. “Oh, you mean at the Burrow? Not for a couple of hours. Which reminds me...” she went over to the sideboard next to the bay window. Opening the middle drawer, she pulled out a rectangular package wrapped in blue paper with little snowflakes printed on it.

“It's not much,” she said apologetically as she handed it over, “but I wanted to get you something.”

Snape looked quite stunned – which was no easy feat – as he accepted the gift. Her stomach was in knots as she watched him open it.

After getting Ginny's present she had gone into Flourish and Blotts with the mission to find a gift for Snape. A book seemed the most logical option, but it had proved harder than she thought. She hadn't dared spend more time than necessary whilst at Spinner's End – even though his bookshelves had practically beckoned her to browse – and thus had no idea what volumes he already owned. On a whim, she'd wandered over to the stationery section. She finally decided on a self-indexing notebook – his notes were surprisingly unorganised – and picked a forest green one.

Snape's ear tinged slightly pink as the notebook was revealed. He turned it over in his hands, revealing the back, which was engraved with 'Property of Severus Snape – Potions Master'.

“It's self-indexing,” she explained hurriedly, “and there's a privacy spell so only you can read its contents, and you can add more people to that, should you want. Oh, and the shopkeeper assured me it can be used without magic, so you don't have to wait before starting to use it.”

He was still eerily quiet. After what felt like hours, he finally spoke. “This was highly unnecessary.”

Her heart sank. He didn't like it.

“Nevertheless,” he continued, and his eyes met hers, “it has been some time since I last received such a thoughtful gift. Thank you.”

Cheeks flushing, Hermione stuck her hands in the pockets of her dressing gown. “It's nothing, truly. Tea?”

Snape stood. “Allow me.”

Hermione curled up in her father's armchair, watching the lights on the tree and listening to the sounds of Snape pottering about in the kitchen. She glanced out the bay window and smiled. It had started snowing; large snowflakes that were slowly falling and covering everything in a soft white blanket.

Snape came back with their tea, placed the mugs on the table and sank down on the sofa. Hermione grabbed the mug and inhaled deeply. If there was anything more soothing than a cup of tea, she didn't know it. She blew on it slightly before taking a sip. Perfect.

They sat in a comfortable silence until Hermione realised she risked running late and practically flew upstairs. She swapped her dressing gown for actual clothes, stuffed the presents into her beaded bag and brushed her teeth meticulously before going back downstairs.

Grabbing a pinch of Floo powder, she halted. She couldn't do this.

“Granger?”

She spun around and met Snape's gaze. “Maybe I should stay here. It's not fair to you and-”

“Go,” he said firmly. “If you don't, the Weasley's will most likely think I am holding you prisoner, and I don't fancy being hexed this early in the morning.” His eyes softened slightly. “You can leave whenever you wish.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Okay. I'll see you later then?”

Snape nodded. “You will.”

She threw the powder into the Floo, stepped in and called out, “The Burrow!” Before the flames took her away she watched Snape's dark form, half-lit by Christmas lights.

When she reappeared, it was in a bright and warm space. There was talking and laughter, the sounds of pots clanging against each other and the screeching of owls. The sheer loudness of it all made her want to go back through the Floo.

“Hermione!” Molly was the first to notice her, and within a few seconds she had been hugged and squeezed by every member of the Weasley family – including Harry and Fleur, who kissed the air next to her cheek.

Someone directed her towards an empty chair, and she sank down heavily. She was squeezed in between Charlie and George. It was difficult seeing the scarred flesh where George's ear used to be. Snape had done that. She knew it had been an accident – it was the only memory that Harry had shared – but it made her wonder how many other perceived wrongs Snape had committed whilst doing his best for the light.

If anyone noticed her being quiet they didn't comment on it. Christmas at the Burrow had always been comforting. Now, she felt on edge. It was too loud, too hot, too many people close to her. Once they relocated from the kitchen to the sitting room to open presents, she realised she hadn't spoken a word since she arrived.

The presents were exchanged – Harry, in particular, seemed pleased with his gift certificate to a a fancy home décor shop – and soon every Weasley (including the honorary ones) were brandishing new Christmas jumpers. Hermione's was maroon and matched Ron's. She silently wondered if Molly hadn't given up on them ending up together.

As mince pies and mulled wine were being passed around, Bill cleared his throat.

“We have one more present.” He glanced at Fleur, who gave him a pearly smile and a nod.

Fleur laid a hand on her flat stomach. “We are expecting a tiny bébé!”

There was a flourish of hugs (and a few tears from Molly), and Hermione felt herself smiling for the first time that day.

“Congratulations, Bill. I'm really happy for you,” she said as the eldest Weasley squished her in a hug.

“Thank you, Hermione.” The scars on his face stretched as he smiled.

Amid talk of due dates – early June – and names – _“It's too early to think about that, mum,”_ – Hermione escaped to the loo.

Sitting down on the toilet seat, she let out a frustrated sigh. Why was this so difficult for her? No one else seemed to be struggling.

There was a hesitant knock on the door. “Hermione? Are you all right?” Harry sounded worried.

She reached out and unlatched the door, then pushed it open. Harry's face was slightly pink – likely from the heat and too much mulled wine – and his brows were pushed together. He glanced over his shoulder, then stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

He leant against the door and regarded her too closely for her liking. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hermione felt tears pool in her eyes and chuckled. “What's there to talk about?”

“Oh, I don't know. How about that you're hiding in the loo on Christmas? We could talk about that.” Harry smiled, a warm smile that felt like home and made her think of when they danced in the tent. He'd been thin and scruffy but he'd been her Harry. Her family in all but blood.

Then she was crying, and his smile faded. “I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me, it's just...”

“I get it,” he said, voice low. “Everyone expects us to go back to normal, but how can we? _That_ was our normal, this isn't.” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I've been feeling weird. Jumpy, unsettled.”

Hermione smiled wanly. “Hence the redecorating?”

Harry chuckled and nodded. “Hence the redecorating. I finally realised that, for the first time ever, I've no enemy to fight, no need to look over my shoulder. What do I do with all that energy?”

“I know what you mean,” Hermione sniffled, tearing off a wad of toilet paper to dry her tears.

“If you need to go, then go. They'll understand.”

She snorted. “Will they? I love the Weasleys, but we both know their love comes with terms.”

Harry said nothing.

Someone knocked hard on the door. “Oi, are you done? I need to take a piss.”

Hermione stood as Harry opened the door.

Ron looked confused as he looked from Harry to Hermione. “What's going on?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Nothing. I'll go help your mum with the food.” She pushed past her two best friends, wondering silently the best way to excuse herself for the day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments! I hope you're staying safe and healthy 💖

_Chapter Eight_

Severus had just finished watching the Queen's speech when the fireplace turned green. He switched off the TV as Granger came through the Floo, clutching her beaded bag and with ash on her nose. Something was off about her.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You held out longer than I thought you would. What excuse did you give to leave early?”

Waving a cleaning spell around her, Granger shrugged and sat on the sofa, putting her beaded bag on the table. “I didn't need one.”

Severus tilted his head, finally realising what was different about her. “Nice jumper,” he smirked.

Her cheeks matched the colour of her Christmas jumper, which she promptly removed. She had only a singlet on underneath, and he quickly averted his eyes.

“You're in luck,” she said, rummaging through her beaded bag. She pulled out something charcoal grey and tossed it in his direction. “Molly sent it and wishes you a happy Christmas.”

He unravelled it and found himself holding a charcoal grey jumper with a large S in green thread on the front. He hadn't been given a Molly Weasley jumper before, and he wasn't sure how he felt about this.

“She sent plenty of leftovers as well,” Granger continued. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes,” he lied.

She rolled her eyes and stood. “I'll put them in the fridge.”

When she came back to the sitting room, she was once again wearing the blue jumper she'd left in this morning.

“What's this?” Granger asked as she sat, gesturing to the large vials he had placed on the coffee table in her absence.

“It's for you.”

Her eyebrows shot up and her lips quirked upwards. “You got me a Christmas present?”

Severus' throat went dry. “No,” he blurted out.

Her face fell slightly.

Bugger. “It's not specifically for Christmas; I just happened to finish it this morning.” His eye twitched, and a headache was building up behind his brow. “It's a variation of the muscle relaxation potion. It has a higher efficiency and preventative qualities. Taken weekly, it should hopefully lessen your attacks to minor muscle spasms.”

Granger stared at him for a few seconds. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

She blinked twice. “How did you manage to make it into a preventative potion? I didn't think that was possible.”

Severus smirked. “Skill.” When she rolled her eyes, he chuckled. “One can do almost anything if one is familiar enough with the ingredients and how they react to each other. In this case, the mixture of boom berries and corydalis root gives the preventative aspect without turning all your muscles into jelly. We may need to adjust the dosage, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Granger got an over-excited look on her face that he recognised from class.

Merlin, help him.

“Could you teach me how to brew it?”

Absolutely no fucking way. He crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“No offence, Granger, but this is above your skill level.”

She huffed, looking offended.

Severus snorted. “Don't give me that look. We both know your brilliance isn't in potions.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly. “Are you hungry? I didn't have much for lunch.”

It turned out – to no surprise at all – Molly had given Granger more than just leftovers; it was practically a feast and more than enough to last them several days. They set up the spread in the dining room and tucked in. Outside, the snow was still falling heavily. After dinner, he indulged Granger in the childish tradition of pulling a cracker Molly had sent over. As the smoke from the magical exploding cracker settled around the homemade toffee, Granger's laugh still echoed in the room. He'd never admit it, but living with Granger had proved quite enjoyable.

He thought back to the Queen's speech from earlier that day, and what she'd said about lessons that could be learnt by different generations from each other. Maybe she had a point.

–

Severus was cleaning up after a long day of brewing when the garage suddenly started spinning. He closed his eyes and grasped the edge of the workbench, trying to breathe deeply. He wasn't coming down with something, was he? Once the feeling passed, he slowly opened his eyes. He'd give anything for a cooling charm right about now, but running a handkerchief over his clammy forehead would have to do.

He was slow to finish the cleaning up, then pulled his scarf and cloak tightly around his frame before going into the house. It hadn't stopped snowing since Christmas Day – which was unusual – and the path between the house and the garage showed no signs of him using it several times a day. Once inside, he removed his heavy boots by the door and hung his cloak and scarf next to Granger's. He shivered. Why did it have to be so bloody cold?

“Granger, do you want tea?” he called out as he stepped into the kitchen. There was no answer. He filled the electric kettle with water then went into the dining room, where she'd been the last time he saw her. It was empty; only the usual mountain of books occupied the space. A flash of something moving caught his eyes. His brows knitted together. Textbooks didn't have moving covers.

Severus pulled out the book, half-buried underneath two Herbology volumes. His own face scowled back at him. Pain radiated through his chest, and he gripped the table tightly. He was going to be sick. His eyes flickered over the cover before fastening at the bottom. Fucking Rita Skeeter.

“Did you say something about tea?”

He turned, book in his hands. Granger stood in the doorway. Her gaze dropped to the book in his hands, and her face paled.

“What is this?” he spoke through clenched teeth. “Why do you have this?”

Her eyes were wide and when she spoke, her voice was shaking slightly. “I saw it when I was Christmas shopping last weekend. I cannot believe she's done this, but at the same time, I'm not surprised. She's vile.” She exhaled shakily. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”

“If you wanted to know the humiliating life of Severus Snape all you had to do was ask Potter,” he spat out.

“I haven't read it, not a word!” Reaching out, she took the book from his hands and threw it down on the table. It landed with the cover facing down, showing a picture of Rita winking to the camera on the back. “But you should.”

–

Laying on his bed later that night, he pondered their conversation and was loath to admit that Granger was right. He was sure the book – and he used that term loosely – was filled with a mixture of half-truths and outright lies, but he needed to know what it said. If nothing else, for his peace of mind. He had placed it in the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers, where the box containing his memories also sat. He hadn't decided what to do with them but knew it would probably be until Granger started classes again before he even thought of viewing them.

As per usual, Severus didn't sleep much. He reckoned the last time he'd got a full night's sleep was when he'd been in a coma. Would it be too much to ask for them to put him under again so he could get some rest? There was always Dreamless Sleep, but he knew better than to rely on a potion for sleep. He rose early and padded quietly to the bathroom. There was no sound coming from Granger's room.

He used the loo, then disrobed and stepped into the shower. He closed his eyes with a sigh as the hot water started beating down on him. Bracing his hands against the shower wall he hung his head, feeling the water drip down the base of his neck, over his back and down between his arse cheeks. After a few minutes, he pushed his sodden hair off his face and reached for the shampoo. His generic bottles sat next to Granger's colourful ones on the shower rack. He roughly worked the shampoo into his hair, then stood underneath the warm spray for several minutes. A gob of shower gel in his hand, he quickly cleaned himself.

His hands ran over his thin torso, over slightly protruding hip bones and finally settled on his semi-erect cock. Closing his eyes, he gave in to the desires of his body. One hand braced against the tiled wall and the other moved in quick strokes against his flesh. His breaths came out in short huffs, and he tried to recall Lily's face. Her green eyes, warm smile and red hair. Squeezing his eyes shut he felt a tightening in his lower abdomen. Lily's face was so clear to him, and he felt himself getting closer. Then her face suddenly morphed; turned shorter and narrowed, the long red hair became brown and bushy and the green eyes darkened. And he was coming, head thrown back and clenching his jaw to stop the noise as he spilt himself over his hand and down the drain.

For several seconds he stood panting, still fisting his softening cock. Salazar's saggy ballsack. What kind of pervert was he, thinking about a girl half his age? He was clearly losing his mind. Severus finished his shower quickly and got dressed whilst avoiding looking in the mirror. Pushing his damp hair behind his ears he went downstairs. It was still dark, but he didn't turn on any lights. The glowing lights from the microwave let him know it was just after 5 am. Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil he glanced out the kitchen window. The morning was quiet, and the deep snow bore marks that an animal had crossed the garden sometime during the night. Most likely a fox.

He had his tea and a piece of toast before downing his medicinal potions. He grimaced. He was quite sure they hadn't always tasted this vile. Making a second cup of tea he relocated to the sitting room. The book Granger had been reading a few weeks ago, the one about euthanasia, was still out on a side table. After a moment's contemplation, he picked it up. Might as well see what Granger found so fascinating about it.

By the time he heard Granger come downstairs he was almost halfway through the book, and to his surprise he found he was enjoying it. The familiar sounds of her pottering around in the kitchen were fairly soothing and she appeared a few minutes later carrying a steaming mug and a piece of toast. Severus glanced at her, saw her brown curls and warm eyes and had to look away. His shame was too raw.

“Good morning,” she smiled as she sat.

“Morning,” he said shortly, fixing his gaze back on his book.

“I'm off to Harry's in a bit,” she said at length. “I promised I'd help him finish painting and get the house ready for the party tomorrow.”

“Is that so?” he replied, still focused on the book but not seeing a single word.

“Are you sure you're all right with me leaving you alone for New Years?”

Severus scoffed. “I am neither a child nor a pet and I don't need your mollycoddling. Go, let your hair down and dance and drink, or whatever it is you young people do to have fun.”

Granger snorted.

He risked a glance. The winter sunshine was streaming through the bay window, and Granger had her eyes closed and face turned towards the sun. As if knowing he was watching, she turned her face towards him and opened her eyes. Her brown eyes had amber tones in the sunlight.

“You realise that made you sound about 80?”

He turned his eyes back to his book. “I'm an old soul.”

Granger left for Grimmauld Place not long after, and the house was once again silent. For the first time in weeks, he was in no mood for brewing. The cold made his bones ache, and Granger's warming charms weren't as strong as his would have been. He would need to speak with her about refreshing them.

The doorbell rang.

Severus froze. Should he answer it? Only a Muggle would ring the doorbell. One of the neighbours?

It rang again.

Adjusting his shirt to fully cover both his scars and the suppression cuff, he went into the hallway and opened the door. The cold air rushing in made him shiver.

On the other side of the door stood a squat woman of about sixty years old, with short dark hair and a wide face. Her eyes flickered shamelessly over his person, and she reminded him immediately of Petunia Dursley.

“Yes?”

“Hello.” Her voice was shrill. “You haven't got any post misdelivered? For number 14?”

His brow arched. “No.”

She laughed. “Oh, well. No harm in asking.” She glanced behind him into the house. “How are the Granger's enjoying Australia?”

“Well enough.”

She seemed unaffected by his dismissive tone. “I said to my Richard, it was very brave of them just to up and move like that! Does their daughter still live here? Bless, I've forgotten her name. I'm sure it was something a bit odd, maybe Hermia?”

“Hermione,” Severus said, voice shaping around the word.

“Oh, that's right. And you are?”

“A friend of the family.”

Her eyes lost a bit of warmth. “I see. Tell Hermione that Patricia said hello, and have a Happy New Year.”

“Likewise,” Severus said with a sneer and shoved the door shut in her face.

Though he wasn't able to use Legilimency, he had enough experience as a spy to be able to notice things that other people didn't. She was nothing but a curtain twitcher. She'd probably seen him come and go from the garage and wanted to suss out exactly who he was. Most likely she thought there was something illicit going on between him and Granger. He snorted. Old bat.

Granger returned home in the early evening, smelling of paint and with specks of white and blue in her hair.

“Grimmauld Place is looking very different,” she said, stepping into the kitchen. “It's hardly recognisable. I don't think Kreacher likes it, though.”

Severus snorted, finishing rinsing the vegetables for dinner and putting them on the chopping board. “I remember him from when Black was still alive, I can't imagine his disposition has changed much.”

Granger shrugged and leant back against the worktop. “He's much friendlier now that the locket's been destroyed.”

Severus' brows rose. “Really?”

“Really.” She nicked a cherry tomato from the board. “He still doesn't like me much, but at least he's stopped calling me a Mudblood.”

Severus recoiled. “Don't say that word.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “Sorry.” She gave a wan smile. “I need to shower, I've got paint everywhere, but then I'll help with dinner.” She left, and a few minutes later he heard the shower turn on.

Shame flooded through him as he recalled his own shower that morning. If Granger knew what he'd done she would kick him out in a heartbeat. He chopped the vegetables on autopilot, trying hard not to focus on the shower, and Granger in it. What was wrong with him?

Then his vision blurred. The room spun and a cold sweat broke out all over his body. He breathed deeply through his nose. Pain radiated from his neck. It felt like hours until the room stopped spinning. His eyes stayed closed, and he let go of the knife. It clattered against the chopping board. The pain continued, but now it was centred in his left hand.

Severus opened his eyes and was met with a bloodbath. Blood oozed from a deep cut on the base of his thumb, and the kitchen knife was bloody. He swore and reached for a tea towel, pressing it against his hand. Where the hell did she keep the bandages? He wrapped the towel tightly around his hand and gritted his teeth against the pain.

A gasp came from the doorway. “Oh my God, what happened?”

“I'm fine,” he spoke through clenched teeth, switching to the next cupboard. “Where the devil are the bandages?”

“Snape...”

He felt a hand on his arm. He recoiled, but she didn't let go.

“Please.”

The tone of her voice made him stop, and he looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and soft, her hair a damp frizzy mess around her shoulders.

“Let me help you.”

Severus swallowed and nodded silently.

Granger led him to the sink and carefully lifted the towel. As the pressure lessened the blood started welling up again. Pulling up her wand she cast a cleansing charm, and he saw the extent of the damage. The cut was about two inches long and fairly deep.

Her hand was warm on his skin, and he had to avert his eyes. How long had it been since someone had touched him voluntarily? She was close enough that he could feel her damp hair and smell the soap on her skin. The tip of her wand was sharp against his hand, and he bit back a groan when the skin knitted itself back together.

“I'm not as good at Healing spells as Poppy,” Granger said, running her fingers over the closed wound, “but it looks like it has closed properly. You'll probably have a scar, though.”

Severus snorted. “I've got plenty of them, what's one more?”

Granger chuckled. “I suppose.” Then she seemed to realise her hand was still on his, and she pulled away. “I'll clean this up, why don't we have a take away instead?”

It was a disturbing realisation for Severus that he hadn't minded her hand on his. Not one bit.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so behind on answering comments, but I love and appreciate them all 💖

_Chapter Nine_

Hermione eyed herself in the mirror with a furrowed brow. It wasn't too much, was it? Unfortunately, the only person she could ask for an opinion from was Snape, and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. She sighed and gathered her beaded bag. It would have to do. She could always ask Ginny what she thought later. She had picked up the long-sleeved plum dress in a shop in Muggle London a few days previously, and the salesperson had been very kind and helpful. Her attempts at taming her hair had been mostly unsuccessful – she didn't have the energy to faff around with Sleekeazy's – but it did look less bushy than usual.

Heading downstairs, she pulled on her shoes and coat. Even though she'd be Flooing straight into Grimmauld Place and thus technically didn't need it, it felt strange to leave without a coat in the middle of winter.

“I'm off to Grimmauld,” she said, entering the sitting room.

Snape glanced up at her, and her cheeks flushed slightly. She resisted the urge to tug on the hemline of the dress.

“Enjoy your evening,” he said curtly.

“You too,” she smiled. “Have you got anything special planned?”

He pretended to look pensive. “I've got a ritual sacrifice at 8, a chess game with the Grim Reaper at 10 and then I thought I'd write my memoirs until bedtime.”

Hermione stifled a chuckle and rolled her eyes. “Tell him I said hi. I'll see you later.”

She came through to the dining room of Grimmauld Place, which Harry had decorated to within an inch of his life. There were colourful balloons and bunting everywhere, and he'd even transfigured the chandelier into a disco ball. Hermione stifled a smile.

“Does it look all right?” Harry asked, wiping his hands on his trousers. “You look, uh, nice.”

“It looks great,” Hermione smiled, stepping out of the Floo. “Does nice mean terrible?”

Harry chuckled. “No, you look good. Just not used to seeing you all dressed up.”

“That makes two of us.” She put her coat out in the hallway. “Where's Ginny?”

“She's not here yet.”

Something in his voice made her look up. “What's going on with Ginny? She's been acting strange lately.”

Harry sighed, slumping on the sofa and looking up at the ceiling. “I don't know. I've noticed something is bothering her, but she won't talk to me.”

“I've noticed that too,” Hermione said, taking the place next to Harry on the sofa. “It is the first Christmas without Fred, maybe that's why?”

“I suppose.” He let out a frustrated sound and lifted his head to look at her. “I should talk to her later.”

“Maybe not tonight,” Hermione said. “Enjoy your evening, you can talk another day.”

Harry grinned. “True. One of the guys from Auror training, Andrew, was especially looking forward to meeting you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Shut it. When are the others supposed to arrive, anyway?”

The fireplace turned green.

Harry stood. “Now, apparently.”

–

A few hours later, Hermione had to admit the party was a success. Hogwarts students, current and former, mingled with Auror trainees, and it seemed like everyone was having a good time. Muggle pop music was playing through invisible speakers – Hermione's doing – and a large space had been cleared as a makeshift dance floor.

Hermione had just come off the dance floor with Terry Boot when a tall guy with light brown hair and dimples approached her.

“Hermione?” he said with a smile. The way he said her name made her suspect he was American, and when he continued talking her suspicions were confirmed. “I don't think we've been introduced.” He stuck out his hand. “I'm Andrew, I'm training to be an Auror with Harry and Ron.”

“Oh, yes. Hello!” Hermione shook his hand. It was warm, and his grip was firm but not tight.

“Would you like to dance? With me, I mean.”

Her stomach fluttered slightly, and she smiled. “I would.”

Right then the song changed to a slow one, and they both gave nervous smiles as they moved over to the dance floor. The singing started, and Hermione awkwardly put her hands on his shoulders. The last time she'd slow danced with anyone was at the Yule Ball with Viktor, and she'd only been a child then. She let out an undignified squeak when he clasped her waist and pulled her into his body.

She learnt then that slow dancing as an adult was very different from slow dancing as a child. Andrew's face was uncomfortably close, and her eyes kept flickering around the room to avoid his gaze. Neville stood with the Patil twins by the bay window. Ginny and Luna were sitting close together and talking. Harry stood in a group of both familiar and unfamiliar faces, though his eyes were on Ginny.

Andrew cleared his throat. “Harry tells me you're studying for your NEWTs?”

“I am.”

His dimples deepened when he grinned. “I graduated from Ilvermorny with a 3.5 GPA. What's that other test you do when you're younger? OWLs? How did you do on that?

“All Os and one E,” she said dryly.

His grin lessened slightly. “Well, the subjects at Ilvermorny are really difficult.”

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The fluttering she'd felt before was well and truly dead now.

Once the song finished, Hermione excused herself. She refilled her cup with the punch Harry had made and grimaced. It tasted too much like alcohol for her liking, and she headed towards the kitchen to find something to dilute it with.

As she walked down the stairs she heard voices and a low giggle.

Ron and Lavender looked up when she entered the kitchen. They were sitting next to each other on the long bench, legs touching. Lavender quickly looked away, but not before Hermione saw the jagged scars on her face.

“Oh, hello,” Hermione said. “Nice to see you, Lavender. How are you?”

Lavender smiled slightly. “I'm all right, considering. How are you?”

“Good, I'm good.” She held up her cup. “Just came down for something fizzy.” Aware that she'd definitely interrupted something, she quickly topped up her drink and sent a smile in her friends' direction before hurrying back upstairs.

Ron found her in the dining room a few minutes later. His cheeks were flushed, and she was fairly certain he had lipstick on his mouth.

“So,” Hermione grinned. “You and Lavender?”

Ron chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We ran into each other at the Ministry a few weeks ago. We went for a pint and ended up talking all night. She's been through a lot, with getting attacked by Greyback and all.”

“How is she doing?”

Ron grinned, that crooked smile she liked so much. A year ago she would have loved to have him smile like that whilst thinking of her. Now, she was just glad that he was smiling again.

“Okay, I think. I know she and Bill met over the summer; he gave her some advice and stuff.”

“I'm glad you've found each other. You deserve to be happy.”

Ron laughed and pulled her close. “None of that sentimental stuff. It's New Year's Eve!” He placed a kiss on her curls. “Come on, let's dance.”

Ron was an excellent dancer, and they laughed and danced for several songs. Hermione left him in the company of Lavender with a smile. It was nearing midnight when she realised she hadn't seen either Harry or Ginny for a while.

Slowly – and admittedly a bit unsteadily – she made her way upstairs. Heated voices were coming from the drawing-room, and she'd spent enough time huddled underneath the Invisibility cloak to recognise Harry's voice. Hermione startled when the door slammed open and Ginny rushed out. Her head was down and she wiped at her eyes.

“Ginny, wait...” Hermione started to say, but Ginny pushed past her on the landing and disappeared downstairs.

After a few moments of hesitation, she stepped into the drawing-room.

Harry was hunched over on the sofa, face in his hands. He looked up when she closed the door, a hopeful look on his face.

His face fell. “Oh. I thought you were Ginny.”

“She went downstairs. I think she was crying.”

Harry's face twisted. “Fuck.”

She took the armchair opposite the sofa and smoothed down her skirt. “What happened?”

“I tried speaking with her, but it obviously didn't go as planned,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes. “I may have been a bit insensitive.”

Hermione sighed. “Oh, Harry. It was a bad idea to do that tonight.”

He let out a frustrated sound and sat up fully. His hair was an absolute mess from where he'd been tugging at it, and his eyes were slightly glassy. If that was from drink or emotion, she didn't know. “Trust me, I know. I just worry about her.” He blinked twice, then grinned. “So. What did you think of Andrew?”

Hermione snorted. “He's a tosser.”

Harry laughed. “I know. He's harmless though. Is it just me, or does he remind you of Cormac?”

“He does! Though not as vile.” She glanced at the clock on the mantle and stood. “Come on, it's almost midnight. Let's join our friends.”

They made it downstairs into the dining room – where everyone was gathered – with only a few minutes to spare. Spirits were high, and the closer it got to midnight the more people seemed to pair up. Hermione saw Harry look around for Ginny, a crestfallen look on his face.

“Ten!”

Someone started the countdown.

“Nine!”

More people joined, they were all chanting.

“Eight!”

On her right, Ron had a steady arm around a smiling Lavender.

“Seven! Six!”

Hermione clasped Harry's hand tightly and tried to look reassuring.

“Five!”

Her mind suddenly drifted to Snape.

“Four!”

What was he doing at that moment? Was he already in bed, or was he in the sitting room with tea and a book?

“Three!”

Maybe he'd gone out to the garden to see the fireworks. She wondered if he felt lonely.

“Two!”

“One!”

“Happy New Year!”

The room exploded in silver confetti, and Harry kissed her cheek. Ron detangled himself from Lavender long enough to envelop both Harry and Hermione in a tight hug. Hermione closed her eyes. She hoped 1999 was kinder to them – all of them – than 1998 had been.

–

It had just gone one in the morning when she Flooed back to Kingston Vale, very tired and fairly tipsy. She had expected the sitting room to be dark and empty, so she started when she saw Snape on the sofa. The room spun slightly, and she grabbed the side of the fireplace as she stepped out.

“Happy New Year!” she grinned, kicking off her shoes.

His eyebrow arched. “Are you drunk?”

Hermione huffed and threw her coat and beaded bag on the sofa before flopping down. “I am not. I might be a bit tipsy, but I don't see why you should be judging me for that. I am an adult.”

“There's no judging.” He looked oddly amused. “I take it the soirée was a success?”

Hermione hummed in response, putting her feet up on the coffee table. Snape's coal-black eyes flickered down.

“What have you been up to tonight? Did you watch the fireworks?”

“I did.”

She eyed the empty mug only inches away from her feet on the table. “I thought you'd go for something a bit stronger for the occasion.”

“I don't drink,” he sneered.

Hermione blinked twice at his tone. Her eyelids felt slightly heavy.

He waved a hand dismissively. “Go to bed, Granger. You look ready to topple over, and I'm not carrying you upstairs.”

She giggled at the visual of Snape carrying her bridal style up the stairs. Maybe she was drunker than she thought. “I suppose I should sleep.” She tilted her head and regarded him for a moment. “Can I call you Severus?”

He rolled his eyes. “If you must.”

Hermione grinned. “You may call me Hermione if you want.”

“I'd rather not. Off to bed with you.”

She stood, a bit shakily. “Good night, Severus.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Good night, Granger.”

Once she'd washed her face and cleaned her teeth – though she was too tipsy for flossing and sent a silent apology to her parents – Hermione all but collapsed into bed. Burrowing down in the covers, she closed her eyes. Apart from the odd firework still going off, everything was quiet. The stairs creaked slightly and she heard Snape walk across the landing. The opening and closing of his door, then silence.

That night Hermione would dream about a faceless form, hands running over her body and a hot breath in her ear. In the morning, she would have no recollection of the dream other than the dampness between her thighs and a sense of longing.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten_

Hermione was thankful for the beginning of term.

She had come downstairs the morning after the party to find a hangover potion and freshly brewed tea on the kitchen worktop, and her face had flushed when she remembered her exchange with Snape the previous night. She nearly spilt the potion as she recalled he had practically given her permission to use his first name. Where she had got the nerve to ask him that, she wasn't sure.

The start of term proved a good distraction; they were revisiting Mandrakes in Herbology, so there was no time to think of the awkwardness with Snape. She was partnered with Neville, who was quick and confident in his handling of the screaming humanoid plant. Hermione knew he had his heart set on gaining an apprenticeship in Herbology.

Hermione glanced down the line of work stations where Ginny was aggressively re-potting her Mandrake. Hermione had attempted to speak with her before class, but with little success. When the bell rang, she was quick to gather her things and left the greenhouse before Hermione could catch up.

The next class was Defence Against the Dark Arts, taught by a Professor Hector Rubis. He had the difficult task of teaching defensive spells to a room full of war veterans. Her classes, and Defence in particular felt a little like going backwards.

“Settle down, please,” he said as the last students sat. “Today we'll begin revising for the NEWTs. The focus will be on the practical aspects, so the majority of the reading you'll have to do during study hours. We'll start with the Knockback jinx. Who can tell me the incantation and wand movement?”

Several hands rose in the air, including Hermione's.

The class went by quickly as they studied and practised Flipendo. Hermione glanced around the room and saw more than one student with a half-panicked look on their face. Timothy Watson – a seventh year Hufflepuff who had nearly got his arm blown off during the battle – cast a jinx so powerful his partner bounced off the training mat and skidded under Professor Rubis' desk.

The bell rang, and Professor Rubis' clapped his hands together. “That's all for today, students. I want eight inches on the pros and cons of using the Knockback Jinx on my desk by Friday.”

“Do you want to head to the library?” Neville asked as they gathered their things. “I'm gonna try to get started on the assignment today, I think.”

“Not today,” Hermione said, and they walked out into the corridor. “I've promised Hagrid I'd come around for tea. Next week?”

Neville smiled. “Sure.”

A flash of blonde hair disappeared around the corner, catching Hermione's attention. “Luna, wait a second!”

As Hermione rounded the corner Luna was waiting by a bust of August the Affable.

“Oh, hi, Hermione,” Luna smiled. “It's good to see you.”

“You too,” Hermione smiled back. “I was wondering, has Ginny spoken to you about what's bothering her? I know you're close, and she won't talk to me, or Harry. I'm worried about her.”

Luna suddenly looked more serious than Hermione had ever seen her, even during their stay at Shell Cottage. “She'll talk to you when she's ready to.”

Hermione was taken aback. “I know. I won't push. Just...” she sighed. “Let her know we're worried, and we care?”

Luna smiled, blue eyes once again getting their signature dreamy look. “I will. Bye Hermione, see you Friday.”

Hermione was conflicted as she walked down to Hagrid's hut. She was still worried about Ginny, but at least she knew Ginny had Luna to confide in. As difficult as it was to accept – she was a Gryffindor after all – she would have to let Ginny be and trust that she would talk when she felt ready.

She kicked the snow from her boots on the stone steps outside Hagrid's hut before knocking. Fang barked and heavy footsteps came towards the door. Hermione took a step back as it opened, revealing a beaming Hagrid.

“Hermione!” He held out his arms.

“Hello Hagrid,” Hermione smiled, stepping into his arms. Being hugged by Hagrid was very much like being embraced by a big bear. He smelled of the woods, smoke and slightly like wet dog.

“It's nice to see yeh. I've got tea ready an' freshly made rock cakes.”

He ushered her inside, and she pulled off her coat whilst simultaneously trying to keep Fang from licking her face. The hut was warm, and a fire was pleasantly crackling in the hearth.

Hermione hoisted herself up in one of Hagrid's large chairs. “How was your holiday? Thank you for the Christmas present; it was very thoughtful.”

“I hope yeh shared some with Professor Snape,” Hagrid chuckled.

“Oh, of course,” Hermione lied. Hagrid's rock cakes were infamous for being practically inedible, and the batch that arrived by a Hogwarts barn owl was no exception.

Hagrid placed two giant mugs on the table and poured tea from a large teapot. “How is the Professor? Not givin' yeh too much trouble, I hope.”

“He's not.” Hermione sipped her tea and obligatorily took a rock cake from the tray.

Hagrid smiled. “That's good to hear.”

Sitting and listening to Hagrid talk about the ongoings of Hogwarts and how his animals were doing felt like coming home after a long trip. There were two new Thestral foals in the herd in the Forbidden Forest, and Hermione couldn't help but think of all the students who would now be able to see the winged creatures. It was a discouraging thought.

She left some time later with a belly full of tea and her pockets filled with rock cakes.

After Hagrid's parting words – “Give my love to the Professor” – she bundled up against the cold and went down towards Hogsmeade.

Snape was brewing when she Apparated into the garage, and he waved a hand in greeting without stopping what he was doing. He didn't look very well; he was paler than usual, his face looked gaunt and there was a sluggishness to his movements. She was wary about bringing it up; she had already tried a few days ago and he had only regarded her with a cold glare before leaving the room. She hoped he wasn't getting ill; she had a feeling that he would be a terrible patient.

Hermione went into the dining room and took out her planner. Despite Ron and Harry making fun of her colour coded planner when they were studying for their OWLs, she felt confident her revising schedule was flawless **.** She went through the bound notebook given to all students studying from home – where homework assignments and required reading appeared automatically after each class – and updated her planner accordingly. She tilted her head as she reviewed the schedule. It was intense but manageable.

Reaching for a new piece of parchment and a pencil – quills were too much of a hassle and she only used them at Hogwarts – and started on the essay on the Knockback Jinx. It wasn't a very difficult subject, and she was finished with the first draft within the hour. Stretching her back, she glanced at the clock. It was almost tea time. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She was sure Snape hadn't eaten either; he was almost as bad at taking care of himself as she was.

She debated sending her Patronus to Snape, but it seemed too impersonal. Plus, he couldn't ignore her if she was in the room with him. Donning her coat, she went outside. Most of the snow had melted away over the past several days, leaving grey slush behind. She almost slipped twice on the short walk to the garage. Knocking, she waited for Snape to allow her entry. None came. She knocked again.

“Can I come in? It's freezing,” she called out.

Still no answer.

Hermione pushed the door open and peered in. A cauldron was emitting thick black fumes, which had started to fill the room. On the floor lay Snape, unconscious with a bleeding gash on his forehead.

“Severus!”

–

Everything hurt.

Severus' eyes flickered restlessly against his closed lids.

In the distance, someone was yelling – a shrill voice (female) who was then interrupted by a deep voice (male).

He breathed in deeply – which hurt – and smelt the pungency of St Mungo's. Something had to be very wrong if they'd sent him there, breaking his house arrest. He opened his eyes slowly and saw, as expected, the peach walls of a St Mungo's room. An Auror stood just by the door – he realised with a start it was Barnes, who had delivered him from St Mungo's into Granger's custody – and in the corner of the room was Kingsley and Granger. They were arguing, and now that he was awake he could hear them more clearly.

Kingsley looked apologetic – and slightly alarmed – and his hands were raised in front of him. “Hermione, I'm sorry but you have to understand...”

“No!” her voice was shrill but firm. “He almost died! You will fix this, now.”

Kingsley's eyes flickered across the room, before settling on Severus. “Hermione, he's awake.”

Granger's head whipped around, eyes wide. “Severus!” In a few short strides, she was by his bedside. Her hand reached out as if to touch him, but then it fell back against her side. “How are you feeling?”

He wet his dry lips. “Like shite. What happened?”

Kingsley cleared his throat. “The Healer will be here in a minute. She'll explain.”

Granger shot him a scathing look before looking back at Severus. “The cuff that's suppressing your magic is hindering your healing. Those potions you've been taking for months might just as well have been pumpkin juice.”

“Hermione...” Kingsley's voice was a warning.

The door opened, and a Healer Severus recognised from his previous stint at St Mungo's walked in.

She took one look at Severus and sighed. “Back so soon, Mr Snape?”

“What can I say,” he sneered, “I missed the bedside manners. Would you care to tell me what's wrong with me?”

The Healer looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well, it seems you're not healing as well as we would like. As a matter of fact, a look at your runes tells me that your injuries have barely healed at all since you left us.”

“It's the bracelet,” Granger said again. “It's hindering his recovery.”

“I was just getting to that,” the Healer said, sounding miffed that Granger had interrupted her. “With your magical core suppressed, your body has no chance of fighting the remains of the venom in your body.”

“I want that cuff removed at once,” Granger said, chin stubbornly raised.

Kingsley looked exasperated, and he ran a hand over his face. “It's not that simple. I can't authorise the removal of that cuff for a prisoner just like that.”

“It's killing him, Kingsley! I'm legally responsible for Snape and his health and if I say the cuff is coming off, then it's coming off even if I have to drag you in front of the Wizengamot for it to happen.”

Severus blinked twice. She was truly a sight to behold – her eyes wild and hair crackling with magic, cheeks flushed in anger.

Kingsley sighed. “I'll see what I can do.” He shot Severus a look. “I'll be back later. Feel better.”

After he left – taking Auror Barnes with him – the Healer poked and prodded Severus to within an inch of his life. Granger stood facing the window, chewing on her thumbnail and looking concerned. It was several minutes before they were alone.

Once the Healer left, Granger turned to face him.

Severus tried to sit up, but his arms were too weak to support him. He flopped back against the pillows, the sting of humiliation coursing through him. That she should see him like this. “How long have I been here?”

“A couple of days,” Granger admitted, moving towards the bed and sitting down in a pulled up chair. “They had to keep you sedated to try to heal your injuries.”

“What day is it?”

Granger smiled slightly, just one corner of her mouth twitching up. “Saturday. Happy birthday, Severus.”

The way her voice curled around those words did something to his insides. He harrumphed and pushed his lank hair from his face. “I wouldn't go so far as to call it 'happy'. I _am_ slowly dying in hospital, after all.”

She chuckled. “A tolerable birthday, then. And you're not dying. We're going to get that bloody cuff off, and you can begin to heal. Properly, this time.”

He quirked a brow. “You think Kingsley will agree?”

“He doesn't have a choice. Either he agrees, or I will make such a scene that he'll wish he'd never become Minister.”

Severus chuckled softly. She was certainly a fearsome thing to behold.

Her smile widened slightly.

A hesitant knock on the door made them both look up.

Kingsley entered, followed by Auror Barnes and Linden Pugs. Barnes took her place by the door, whilst Kingsley and Pugs stood by the foot of the bed.

“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Granger,” Pugs said to Granger with a slight bow to his head.

Granger's eyes narrowed slightly. “Likewise. I trust you've made a decision?”

Kingsley nodded. “The cuff will be removed.”

An unfamiliar feeling spread through Severus' chest. Was that relief?

Granger's body visibly relaxed. “Good.”

“There are some stipulations,” Pugs said, decidedly avoiding looking at Severus. “His wand remains with us, and I will have your word that you do not allow him the use of your wand nor any other wand. If these terms are not upheld, the cuff gets put back on.”

She glanced at him then, as if waiting for his approval of the terms. At his minuscule nod, she said, “Agreed.”

Pugs looked displeased. “Your wand arm, Snape,” he gruffed.

Trying not to let it show how much energy it took, Severus lifted his right arm. Pugs drew his wand and touched the tip of it to the cuff. It split open and was removed. His wrist felt smaller. Fragile. He had become so used to its presence it was a strange feeling to be without it.

Kingsley cleared his throat. “I suppose we're done here. I wish you a speedy recovery,” he said in Severus' direction.

Pugs sent another distrustful look in his direction, which Severus answered with an arch of his brow.

The door closed, and Severus relaxed back in the bed with a sigh. The sitting up had taken more out of him than he cared to admit. He closed his eyes, searching for his magic. It was there; weak and flickering, but it was there. Thank Merlin.

He heard Granger shift position on the chair. “Are you all right?” Her voice was soft, warm.

Severus wet his dry lips. “I suppose so, under the circumstances.”

“It's still early. You should try to sleep for a few hours.” She paused. “I can stay. If you want.”

He cracked open an eye to look at her. Her eyes had dark circles underneath them, and a furrow was present between her brows. It was a novelty, having someone sit by his bedside. A strange concept to wrap his head around.

Before he could stop himself, he said, “If you wish.”


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven_

Hermione yawned and covered her mouth with her hand. “I'm sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night.”

“Any particular reason?” Dr Larch asked.

Hermione hesitated. The truth was, she had been up all night worrying about Snape. Although he'd been released from St Mungo's – with a half dozen new potions to take daily – she worried something would happen. Who knew what damage that bloody cuff had done. Only the threat of his ire stopped her from sleeping outside his door.

“Hermione?”

When Hermione blinked, she realised she was crying. She reached for the box of tissues and wiped her face. “The last few days have been really stressful.” Taking a deep breath, she told Dr Larch of finding Snape unconscious; sending a panicked Patronus to St Mungo's and sitting with him until the emergency Healers arrived. She had barely left his bedside the four days he'd been unconscious, going so far as to use her status as his minder – and in one instance her connection to Harry – to allow her to stay past the usual visiting hours. The moment he woke up she had felt like laughing and crying all at once.

“It was really scary,” she said, bunching up the used tissue in her hand.

“I can imagine. From what you've told me, you seem quite close.”

Hermione's cheeks flushed. “I wouldn't say that. But we're friends, I suppose?”

“My understanding of Snape is that he's lived a very lonely existence, and true friendships have been rare.”

Though Hermione would never claim to fully know or understand Snape, of that she was certain. She remembered Sirius' taunts about him being Lucius Malfoy's lapdog, though she was wary of the truth behind that statement.

“They have,” she finally said.

“How are you feeling now that Snape is back from the hospital? Relieved?”

Hermione nodded. “I am, but I feel like I can't relax; I keep thinking that something else will happen, and I won't get help in time.”

“Why do you think that is?”

She shrugged, averting her eyes. “My crippling control issues?”

Dr Larch chuckled. “Your issues with control, yes. It's been one of the bigger things we've worked on since you first started to see me and you have made great progress. What do you say to changing our sessions to monthly ones? How would that feel?”

Hermione nodded. “I could do that, I think.”

Dr Larch smiled. “The goal isn't to be in therapy once a week for the rest of your life, and you know you can always contact me, should you need to.”

Those words echoed through Hermione's mind as she walked towards Grimmauld Place. Her first time meeting Dr Larch, she had cried for the entire session. Since then she had seen Dr Larch once a week without fail, and every session had taught her something new. It was scary, but she felt ready to stand more on her own two feet.

London was dull and grey, and the warmth of Grimmauld Place was very welcome. She saw Kreacher disappear upstairs as she hung up her coat, and Harry had tea ready for her down in the kitchen.

“How are you?” Harry said as he poured them tea. “I heard from Kingsley what happened yesterday.”

“I'm fine, Harry.” Hermione smiled slightly. “Snape is at home, and doing better.”

Harry gave her a look she couldn't decipher – it was the same look he used to get when she bothered him about doing his homework. “Are you sure that removing that cuff was such a good idea?”

She almost choked on her tea. “You can't be serious. He almost died!”

“Well, obviously that was bad,” Harry said, sounding frustrated. “But he _is_ a convicted felon, and being without his magic is part of his punishment.”

“And dying isn't!” Hermione was aware her voice was shrill, but couldn't find it in her to care. “His sentence was house-arrest, not the death penalty. If they hadn't taken that cuff off he would have slowly died.”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry.” Harry sighed. “I just worry.”

She frowned. “About me? Why?”

Harry looked embarrassed, and she quickly caught on.

“You think Snape would do something? I'm not sure which is more insulting: you implying Snape would harm me or that I couldn't defend myself should he try.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Forget I said anything. But you'll let me know if anything happens?”

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing is going to happen.”

Harry sighed, then smiled. “All right then. Did I say I was thinking of redoing the upstairs bath?”

When Hermione returned to Kingston Vale later that day, her stomach was in knots. She found Snape in the sitting room, reading. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she went to hang up her coat and hat. He seemed fine.

“I can fix dinner,” she called out, stepping into the kitchen.

She heard the book hit the coffee table, then footsteps.

Snape entered the kitchen looking both pale and annoyed. “I am not an invalid,” he sneered, “and I won't have any of your mollycoddling.”

Hermione flushed. “I wouldn't dream of it. Why don't you peel the potatoes?”

She pretended not to notice that whilst he was doing it with magic, it took a lot longer than she knew he was capable of. It was understandable that he was still feeling drained and weak from that cuff, as well as his injuries.

After dinner, he took his daily cocktail of potions, then excused himself upstairs. When she went to bed hours later, she stopped outside his door. No sounds came from within, and she realised he must have cast Muffliato.

Trying to calm her anxiety – he was a grown man fully capable of calling for help should he need it – she went to bed.

She only woke up three times during the night to listen outside his door.

–

Severus was taking the metaphorical bull by its horns – or more like, the beetle by its wings – and finally reading Skeeter's book about him (though he used the term book loosely). As he was fixing his tea, he realised he hadn't brought the book downstairs with him. A wordless spell, and the book smacked into his hand.

This gave him a deep sense of satisfaction. He was only now, after a full week of having his magic back, getting used to it. How strange that after a lifetime of using magic, only a few months without it could change him in such a way. That he had no wand was of little consequence; he was confident in his skills in wandless and wordless magic, and there was little he required a wand for. He had tried his Occlumency shields and was pleased that they were as strong as ever. Funnily enough, he felt no need to have them up. He still remembered how detached they used to make him feel; like he was separated from the rest of the world by a sheet of very thin plastic. It wasn't pleasant, but he had got used to it. The past years since the Dark Lord's return, his shields had been up constantly. It was difficult for him to deduce if he felt different because his shields were down or because he had his magic back. Most likely it was a bit of both.

Tea and tray of biscuits (ginger newts and jammie dodgers, a new obsession) floating behind him, he went to the sitting room. Granger wasn't due back from Hogwarts for at least a couple of hours, so he had plenty of time for the book. Holding the book, he scowled at the cover (and the cover scowled back). He knew he was ugly, but that was just rubbing it in. Taking a deep breath – and a calming sip of tea – he cracked open the cover.

He was halfway through the book – and on his second serving of tea – when the Floo turned green.

Granger glanced at the book as she stepped into the room. “What's the verdict? Do I need to hex her?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “No. So far she has painted a picture that isn't too far from the truth. I wonder how many Muggles she interviewed in Cokeworth to dig up dirt about my parents.”

She sat, pushing a curly strand of hair behind her ear and plucking a ginger newt from the plate. “What does she say about them?”

He closed the book with a sigh. “That my pure-blood mother's family disowned her when she got pregnant with me, and my father was a violent drunk who enjoyed gambling and couldn't hold down a job. That my childhood was filled with abuse and neglect, and it was no wonder I couldn't stop myself from giving in to the darkness within.”

“Is that true?” Her voice was soft, hesitant.

He tilted his head. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes, and no.” She looked pensive. “Is that why you don't drink? Because your father was an alcoholic?”

Severus nodded slowly. His body still bore the scars from some of Tobias' more violent outbursts, and he had promised himself he would never be like his father.

“I'm sorry.”

He snorted. “He's been dead since before you were born, don't waste your breath on him. Merlin knows he would have hated you. When I was growing up, he hated two things; politics and magic.”

Granger nibbled on a biscuit. “Why do you think he hated magic?”

The question surprised him. He hadn't thought of Tobias for years, and he had certainly never tried to dissect what made him the bastard he was. “I'm not sure,” he admitted. “Maybe he hated it because it scared him; it was something he couldn't understand so he decided to hate it instead. Or he thought it undeserved.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “That we're born with our magic?”

He nodded. “When I was little, back when he still had a job, Tobias always valued hard work. I suppose magic would seem lazy in his eyes – there's a spell for everything, which to him made almost any task seem like minimal effort.”

“My parents thought so too,” Granger said slowly. “They were very supportive,” she was quick to add, “but I could tell they didn't understand our world. It felt almost patronising, the way they would react to me telling them things I'd done at school or explain how something was done with magic.” After the fight at the Department of Mysteries, she had stopped telling them things altogether.

“It's difficult for most Muggles to understand, even those who give birth to a magical child. I've seen my fair share of Muggle-borns being shunned for being magical, much like Squibs are shunned for being non-magical.”

She brushed away a few biscuit crumbs from her lap. “I wonder if that's why they use the suppression bracelets at Azkaban. Not only to quench the magic for safety reasons, but as a punishment? Because they think that you are less if you don't have your magic.”

“I've no doubt that's the case. Don't look so surprised,” he added, because her eyebrows had risen. “You forget I've lived and seen a lot more than you have. Do you think the Dark Lord lured people in during the first war with talk of killing Muggles?” Severus chuckled dryly. “No, that didn't come until much later. The magical society has always been deeply flawed and supremacist.”

Granger's eyed widened. “I thought I was the only one who thought so.”

Severus snorted, arching a brow. “Why, because of your ill-attempted cause for the House-elves?” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Your SPEW project was the talk of the staff room for weeks.”

She looked embarrassed. “It wasn't my proudest moment, I'll admit.”

He shrugged. “Your heart was in the right place, but it was doomed to fail.”

“I know.” She leant back, resting her face on her hand. “Do you think things will ever change? Will people ever stop thinking that blood status is important, or that creatures such as House-elves or Goblins are less than humans? ”

Severus contemplated this as he sipped his tea. “It may seem pessimistic, but I don't think so. Man, Muggle or Wizard, have always thought themselves the wisest and most complete. I don't see that changing anytime soon.”

“That's depressing,” Granger said. “You'd think with the war, people would be a bit more open-minded.”

He snorted. “Would you have been, if the other side had won? Would you have bought into the ideology of blood purity?”

He could practically hear her brain working – it was amusing actually – and finally she sighed.

“No, I wouldn't. I kept thinking, 'but they're wrong', then I realised that _they_ don't think they're wrong.”

“Finally you're actually using all that brain power you have to do some critical thinking.”

Granger rolled her eyes. “I do that quite a lot, thank you.”

“So you say. Now piss off and let me finish this book. I can't wait to read about all the reasons I joined the Dark Lord.”

She chuckled but stood. “All right, I'll leave you to it. Let me know if she needs hexing when you're finished.”

Granger left, and it took Severus a few minutes to find the focus to delve back into the garbage that was Rita Skeeter's writing.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter Twelve_

The first Tuesday in February found Hermione in the Hogwarts library, along with Neville and Ginny, studying for their NEWTs. Their course-load seemed to be getting heavier each week, and Hermione got more frazzled with every new homework assignment. It had got to the point that Snape put wards on the dining room in the evenings so she couldn't study into the wee hours of the morning – it was the first and only time she cursed him having his magic back.

Although she preferred studying at home – fewer interruptions and access to tea and biscuits – she enjoyed having this time with her friends. It felt like she never saw them anymore; everyone had their busy lives, and Ginny was still acting strangely. Hermione glanced across the table at the youngest Weasley, who was focused on her paper with a furrowed brow.

Ginny sighed and sat up, pushing a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Does anyone have _Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants_ here?”

A shuffle through the piles of books on the table proved unsuccessful, and Ginny stood. She disappeared into the stacks, and Hermione hesitated a second before following her. She found Ginny deep in the Herbology section and cleared her throat so as to not scare her.

“Hey, Ginny?”

“Hmm?” Ginny's smile was a tad too polite to be genuine.

Hermione ran a hand over the spine of _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World._ “You're okay, right? I know you're not ready to talk, and you don't have to. But I worry.”

This time, Ginny's small smile was real, and her eyes shone. “I'm fine, Hermione. Or, I will be. Soon, I hope.”

Letting out a relieved sigh, Hermione nodded. “Good. You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?”

“I know.” Ginny pulled out the book she was looking for. “And I will. When I'm ready.”

“That's all I ask.”

They returned to the table and found Luna occupying the previously empty seat and chatting with Neville. She smiled when Ginny and Hermione approached.

“Oh, hello,” she said, eyes flickering from Hermione to Ginny. “I hope you don't mind me joining?”

“Not at all,” Ginny said, sitting down next to Luna. “How was Divination?”

Ginny and Luna chatted quietly as Hermione continued with the Herbology assignment. Once that was finished, she set it aside to allow the ink to dry and started on the Defence essay. She quickly lost focus, as her study mates seemed more interested in chatting than studying. The conversation turned to what they would do after leaving Hogwarts.

“As long as I get at least an Exceeds Expectations in Potions, Professor Sprout has said I can apply for an Apprenticeship with her,” Neville said.

“I can help you, if you'd like,” Hermione offered. It was no secret to anyone, least of all Neville himself, that he was a disaster around a cauldron.

He smiled. “Thanks, but I'm not sure I need it. Slughorn says I'm on the higher end of 'Acceptable', and that he sees no reason why I shouldn't get up to an Exceeds Expectations,” he boasted.

Hermione couldn't stop her surprised look, and a glance across the table showed similar expressions on Ginny's and Luna's faces. “That's great, Neville.”

Neville looked embarrassed. “Potions still scare me, don't get me wrong, but I prefer Slughorn's teaching to Snape.” He glanced at Hermione. “I know he's done a lot of good, but he wasn't a very good teacher.”

Hermione disagreed, but held her tongue.

“I haven't decided yet,” Luna said, leaning her chin on her propped up hand. Her long, blonde hair spilt over the table. “I'm thinking of going to South America; they've got all sorts of rare magical plants and creatures there. It all depends on if Dad needs help with the Quibbler or not.”

Neville nodded. “How is your dad doing?”

“He's all right, thank you,” Luna smiled. “He still has his bad days, but they're getting fewer.”

“That's good,” Hermione said. “Tell him I said hi.”

“I will.” Luna turned to Ginny. “You're joining the Holyhead Harpies, aren't you?”

Ginny's cheeks flushed. “Nothing's decided yet.”

Hermione's mouth dropped open. “You're being scouted? Why didn't you tell me?”

Ginny shrugged. “As I said, it's not set in stone yet. But they've come to see me play, and there's some discussion going on. They'll be there for the next match, too.”

Hermione smiled, pushing back the hurt at her friend not telling her such big news. “I'll keep my fingers crossed for you. When's the next match?”

“The last Saturday in February.”

“I'll be sure to come to watch it, then. Maybe Harry and Ron can come too.”

Ginny's face fell slightly. “I suppose so. If they've got the time, I mean.”

–

“There's a letter for you,” Snape said when she stepped out of the Floo, not looking up from the Potions books he was reading.

“Are you sure it's not another get well card?” she teased, putting her book bag on the armchair.

His glare was seething, but she only chuckled as she walked past him. Since he'd got back from hospital there had been an influx of cards and gifts wishing him a speedy recovery. Only Molly's baked goods had been spared the Incendio he'd unleashed. She plucked a homemade biscuit from the tin and went back to the sitting room.

The letter – marked only with her name block letter – sat on the sideboard by the bay window, and she eyed it before sinking down on the sofa. Who would be writing her?

Opening it and starting to read, her brow furrowed. It became deeper the longer she read, although it wasn't a very lengthy letter. Once finished, she put the letter down. She most definitely hadn't seen that one coming.

“Granger.”

She blinked twice.

“Granger?”

Hermione looked up. Snape was observing her with a strange look on his face. Was that concern?

“The letter is from Lucius Malfoy,” she said.

Snape's eyebrows arched up into his hairline.

“He's requesting a visit from me, this Sunday.”

“Huh. Why?”

She shrugged. “I don't know; he doesn't say.” She handed him the letter. “You can read it, I don't mind.”

Snape looked suspiciously at the letter as he accepted it, and did a number of revealing spells – a few Hermione didn't recognise – but finally put the letter down. “There's nothing else there. Whatever he has to say, he doesn't want written down.”

“Should I be nervous?”

He shook his head. “There'll most likely be guards present, so he can't do anything to you. But watch what you say; Lucius is cunning and will use your own words against you.”

Hermione scoffed. "Charming. I can't imagine what he wants with me, anyway. I'd think he'd be afraid to get Mudblood germs just by being in the same room as me."

Snape scowled at her. "Do not use that word."

"Sorry." She sighed. "Couldn't he have the courtesy to schedule a visit earlier in the week? I'm not going to be able to focus on anything else this week."

Snape chuckled. "Although I'm sure that would give him great pleasure, he doesn't control the visiting hours."

"Oh. But still."

–

As predicted, Hermione had trouble focusing on anything but her imminent visit with Lucius Malfoy for the rest of the week. She only revised for six instead of eight hours a day, and could barely pay attention in Potions class on Friday. The worst part was the nightmares that flared up. Each night brought her back to Malfoy Manor under Bellatrix Lestrange's spell. In several of them, it was Lucius casting the spell instead, and she woke in tears one night after Greyback made good of his promise to make her scream.

That evening there was a vial of dreamless sleep waiting for her in the kitchen.

On Sunday, she dressed slowly; her stomach was already in knots and every cell of her body was resisting. Snape was already in the kitchen when she came downstairs, and he shoved a cup of tea and a piece of buttered toast at her.

"Eat," he commanded.

She leant against the worktop and nibbled on her toast, watching Snape make breakfast for himself. She hadn't really noticed before, but he was lacking his usual layers – he was only in a button-down shirt and trousers. He seemed smaller without his billowing coat – less intimidating. She preferred this version of him. Eyes going to his face, she realised by his expression that he'd said something.

"Sorry, what was that?"

He looked unamused. "I said, you don't have to visit Lucius. You don't owe him anything."

Hermione sipped her tea. "I know. But I can't imagine him sending that letter if what he wanted to say wasn't important."

Snape looked unconvinced, and she tried to smile.

"I'll be fine."

Her bravado faltered as she donned her coat and went out to the garage. She Apparated to the Ministry, where she would catch a Portkey to Azkaban. The wizard taking her name at the Portkey office seemed like he'd worked there for too long and barely looked at her as he gave instructions to where she needed to go.

Several other people were gathered around the Portkey to Azkaban, none of whom she recognised. There was a high whistle.

"30 seconds for the Portkey to Azkaban prison, that's 30 seconds! Please note that you must have a booked visit with a prisoner to be allowed entry."

Hermione grabbed the Portkey – a Muggle bike tyre – and it whisked her away.

She arrived in a room not dissimilar to the reception area at St Mungo's, although it was decidedly less cheery. Even with the knowledge that the Dementors were no longer guarding the prison, a chill went through her.

A guard wearing black robes was barking orders. "Have your wands ready for identification. If you do not have a visit scheduled you will not be allowed further than this point."

Hermione dutifully joined the queue to the reception desk. It wasn't too long until she was up.

"Name?" the witch behind the desk said.

"Hermione Granger."

"Name of the prisoner you're here to see?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

The witch's brow furrowed slightly. "Your wand, please."

Hermione reluctantly handed over her wand to the witch, who gave her a green tag with the number 16 etched into it.

"The number is for your table. Next!"

After a few minutes of waiting, the crowd was directed towards a door in the corner of the space. Another guard – Hermione was fairly sure he'd been a Ravenclaw – gave them instructions; do not touch the prisoner, your hands must be visible at all times, any gifts you have for the prisoner must be checked in at the front desk and is _not_ allowed in the visitor's room. A few other people looked as new to this information as Hermione was, whilst others seemed to know all this already.

They were led through a stone corridor, lit by invisible lights, and finally through a door that opened into a large room. It had rows of cubicles – like Hermione had seen in a film once – and several guards stood around the room. She found the cubicle with her number and sat. Eyeing the table and deeming it clean enough she rested her arms on it.

A door on the far wall opened, and a dozen or so prisoners entered with a guard in the front and rear.

Hermione spotted Lucius Malfoy at once, his white-blond hair a beacon against the grey prisoner robes. The closer he got to her, the faster her heart raced. She hadn't been to the trials of the Malfoy family, which had taken place when she was in Australia trying to fix her parents' memories. Harry had told her of their sentences when she got back; Lucius and Narcissa got 80 and 25 years in Azkaban, respectively for their involvement with You-Know-Who, while Draco would be serving his two year sentence in house-arrest.

He sat down on the stool opposite her. "Miss Granger," he said, voice hoarse.

She could only stare. He looked terrible. Pale and ashen, his face was drawn and his hair hung around his face in greasy lengths. He was practically drowning in his worn grey robes, and she saw the suppression cuff around his narrow wrist.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," he continued. "I trust you're well?"

This shook her into speaking. "Why did you write? What could you possibly have to say to me?"

He scoffed. "Such a Gryffindor. It's called pleasantries, Granger, maybe you've heard of them? Tell me, how is dear Severus? I heard you volunteered to be his minder. I can't imagine why."

"I'm not here to talk about him," Hermione said through clenched teeth. "Tell me what you want, or I'm leaving."

That smug look disappeared from Lucius' face, leaving him looking forlorn and scared. It twisted her stomach.

"I find myself requiring your assistance." His voice was low, and he leant in towards her.

It took all her willpower not to recoil. "With what?"

"Narcissa is dead."

"And that concerns me how?"

"Because she should be alive!" Lucius took a deep breath. "She was looking worse and worse for weeks, then she just died. There was no explanation for her passing; no injury or illness. She just…" Here Lucius paused and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Wasted away."

Hermione wasn't sure what to do with the twinge of sympathy she felt. "I'm sorry for your loss, but I still don't see what that has to do with me."

Lucius regarded her as if she was an idiot. "You're the brightest witch of your generation, or so they say. Isn't research your forte?"

"And I should research Narcissa's death because…"

"It's what a good person would do."

She recoiled. "Do not speak to me about being a good person. You have never lifted a finger to help anyone if it didn't profit you."

"If not for me, do it for Severus. He was fond of Narcissa."

Hermione froze.

A high bell sounded.

"That is the end of the visit," barked a guard. "All prisoners return to your cells."

Lucius suddenly grabbed her arm, eyes wide. "Promise you'll look into it!"

Before Hermione could answer, Lucius' body started shaking. A pained moan left his mouth as he was pulled away from his seat by one of the guards.

“You know to keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy,” the guard sneered.

Hermione looked in shock as Lucius was dragged away.

"Time to go, dear," a woman to her left said, a sad smile on her face. "You can see him next week."

Mechanically, Hermione stood and followed the crowd back to the arrival room. She handed in her tag and got her wand back. They Portkeyed back to the Ministry, and Hermione walked across the Atrium towards the Floos. She was fairly sure that Percy Weasley said hello to her, but she couldn't find it in her to answer.

Before she knew it, Hermione arrived back in her sitting room. She supposed she was lucky she didn't end up somewhere else, her mind being as frazzled as it was.

"So?"

Snape stood in the doorway. He must have come from the garage because there were melting snowflakes in his hair and on his cloak.

"What did Lucius want?"

Hermione's vision narrowed until Snape was only a black and white blob in front of her. Her blood pounded in her ears, chest tightening. Lucius' face swam through her mind, not as he was but how he had been. She could see the drawing-room. She had to get away, or he would find her. Her knees shook. Bile rose in her throat as she cried harder.

Someone grabbed her arm and she jerked away. She had to get away.

"It's only me," a low voice in her ear. "You're going to be fine. Just keep breathing."

She was floating – or was she moving? – and then she was sitting. The low voice was still talking, speaking encouraging words that didn't quite penetrate through the haze but still soothed. Something warm touched her hands.

Slowly her chest loosened, and her hearing became clearer. Hermione blinked furiously, and shapes started to appear.

Snape was seated on the coffee table in front of her, both hands grasping hers. Worry was etched in his face, his brow furrowed and mouth down-turned. His eyes searched her face, then he visibly relaxed with a sigh.

"Welcome back."

"I had a panic attack?"

Snape nodded, pulling his hands back. "You did. Are you all right?"

Her hands felt cold. "I'm not sure."

"Wait here." He stood, and she mourned the loss of his leg resting against hers. She felt unsafe when she was alone. He returned not a minute later with a bar of chocolate, which he made her eat in its entirety before he sat – in the armchair this time – and said, "Better?"

Hermione swallowed the last piece of chocolate. "Yes, thank you."

"Do you feel up to talking about Lucius?"

Hating how her voice shook, Hermione told him of her encounter with the Malfoy patriarch; from his haggard appearance to the frenzied way he had grabbed her arm. Snape got a strange look in his eyes when she mentioned Narcissa's passing.

"He didn't tell you anything else?" he asked when she was finished.

"No. He seemed scared, though."

"That Lucius would let his feelings show concerns me," Snape said slowly. “It's unlike him.” He paused. "Perhaps you could write to Andromeda Tonks about her sister's passing? They weren't close, but I'm sure she would like to know."

Hermione nodded. "Of course. How well did you know Narcissa?"

Snape shrugged. "We weren't close, but we had an amicable relationship. She was a fifth year when I started Hogwarts, so I didn't get to know her until she had already left school and married Lucius. I did not wish death upon her."

"Nor I," Hermione said, surprising herself as much as Snape. "I'm not saying that she was an amazing person – she was a Death Eater after all – but she did lie to You-Know-Who about Harry being dead. That took courage. And enough people have died, don't you think?"

Snape didn't answer.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy October folks! 🎃👻💀🦇
> 
> I've got two(!) spooky fics up this year: One is a collab with my dear friend and partner in crime [turtle_wexler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_wexler/pseuds/turtle_wexler) called Here, Now and you can find it on either of our profiles, and the other is an autumnal, spooky, necromancy story with cats called Tenderly the Night. I'd love for you to check them both our and leave a comment (and if you're not familiar with turtle_wexler's work, where have you been? Read it all now.)

_Chapter Thirteen_

After Granger's panic attack, Severus shoved a sleeping draught mixed with some dreamless sleep in her direction and ordered her upstairs. She didn't emerge until almost noon the next day, looking more refreshed and awake than she'd done all week.

“What do you think I should do about Lucius?” she asked, pulling the stool away from the workbench so that she could sit.

“I cannot say,” he replied, not looking up from the Dittany he was finely slicing. “It's not unusual for prisoners to pass away, so I'm unsure if there's anything to do.”

“You think he's being paranoid?”

“Possibly.” He put the sliced Dittany to the side and regarded her. “Azkaban will do things to you, to your mind. With only yourself for company, it doesn't take long before the walls start whispering. The disappearance of the Dementors is an improvement, I'm sure, but it's still a desolate place.”

Her brow furrowed. “You've been in Azkaban?”

Severus leant against the worktop. “I have.”

“I didn't know,” she said, voice soft.

He scoffed. “Of course you didn't; I haven't told you. It was a long time ago.”

“When?”

“After the Potters' death. Pugs, the Department Head, was just a rookie Auror back then and it was he who arrested me. I was interrogated and beaten for hours before they chucked me into Azkaban.” He chuckled darkly at her shocked look. “They didn't exactly send me to St Mungo's to get patched up beforehand.”

“That's barbaric!”

Severus shrugged. “Those were different times, darker ones. Aurors had the authority to cast the Killing Curse at will, and beatings were commonplace. No one raised as much as an eyebrow at a prisoner arriving half-conscious to Azkaban.”

“What happened then?”

“Dumbledore. Mind you, I was already teaching at that point and had been a double agent for over a year. They never charged me with anything and dropped me back off at Hogwarts once they were done with me.”

She didn't reply, and Severus turned back to his ingredients. Once he was halfway through a tub of Flobberworms, she spoke.

“I'm glad you didn't have to return there.”

The stool scraped against the floor as she stood, and a gust of wind blew through the door when she left.

Severus paused his chopping.

Granger's visit to Azkaban had stirred up some memories he'd rather not revisit. They had been in the middle of the Halloween Feast when his Dark Mark had burnt like fire. Blinded by pain, he had barely made it down to his quarters before collapsing. The Aurors had arrived in the middle of the night – thankfully, his arrest hadn't been witnessed by any of the students. The next several days were a blur, between the Aurors asking questions he couldn't answer and the blows they regularly laid on him. He'd only been semi-conscious for most of his time in Azkaban, something he was grateful for. When the guards came to fetch him and announced he was being released, he had practically sobbed with relief. It had taken weeks for the whispers to stop, during which he had handed out more detentions and taken away more points than he ever had since.

He added the Flobberworms to the cauldron, stirred anticlockwise for twenty seconds, then set the magical timer for 45 minutes. Rolling his neck, he put on his coat. He was really fancying a cup of tea.

The house was pleasantly warm, with a fire burning merrily in the sitting room. The familiar sound of a pencil scratching against parchment came from the dining room. In the kitchen, he found a freshly brewed kettle under a stasis charm, as well as the last of Molly Weasley's Christmas biscuits on a plate. He levitated one of the remaining biscuits into the dining room, and a pleasant feeling settled in his chest when he heard Granger's delighted squeal.

Severus was half-way through his cup of tea when the Floo flashed green.

“Severus, are you there?” came Minerva's voice through the flames.

Rising, he approached the fireplace. “Yes, Minerva, I'm here.”

“May I come through?”

Severus frowned, but answered “Of course,” before stepping back.

Minerva brushed the ash from her robes as she stepped through, and straightened her crooked hat. “Good afternoon, Severus.”

He nodded slightly. “Minerva. Cup of tea?”

“Please.”

As he headed back into the kitchen, Granger poked her head out from the dining room.

“Is that Professor McGonagall?”

“It is,” he confirmed. Preparing the tea for Minerva, he heard Granger go into the sitting room and the two women talking. He quickly prepared a second cup of tea – in the floral mug that she seemed to favour for tea – and brought both of them into the sitting room.

“Thank you, lad,” Minerva said, taking the mug from him. She had removed her hat, and Severus didn't think he'd ever get used to the streaks of grey in her hair.

Granger smiled when he handed her her mug – which was unsettling, why was she smiling at him? – and said a quick thanks.

“Not that it isn't good to see you, Minerva,” Severus said, sitting next to Granger on the sofa and crossing one leg over the other, “but what are you doing here?”

“Charming as usual,” Minerva snorted. “I'm in a bit of a conundrum, and I hope that you can help me with that.”

Granger fidgeted. “Maybe I should leave you two in private.”

Minerva, who had just been about to sip her tea, lowered her mug. “Nonsense. I see no reason why you should need to leave.”

Severus met Granger's eyes with a shrug. “Do as you please. I've no objection to your presence.”

Nodding, Granger leant back against the sofa, her hair almost brushing his shoulder.

“As I was saying,” Minerva said. “I've got a proposition for you. Horace,” she sighed, “is being decidedly difficult and is refusing to do any of the brewing for the Hospital Wing. Up until now, we've been buying all the potions from the apothecary in Hogsmeade, but honestly, they are overpriced and not as good as yours.”

Snape snorted. “I could have told you that. Even if I wasn't a Potions Master, I wouldn't buy anything from them. A third year would even be able to brew better potions than those sloppy imbeciles.”

“So says Poppy; it was her who brought this to my attention in the first place. Would you consider taking over the brewing for the Hospital Wing? For a salary, of course.”

His eyebrow arched. “Are you serious?”

“I am. You can do the brewing remotely, surely?”

“I could.”

Minerva produced a scroll from her pocket and put it on the table. “This is a list of expected requirements for the next three months based on the previous three months' usage, from Poppy. Look it over and see if it seems feasible for you to brew. I've also noted down a proposed salary, but I'm open for negotiations.”

“I recall the demands, Minerva, I did brew them for nigh on twenty years.”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, there you have it.” Leaning back and looking relieved, Minerva sipped her tea. “You're well, I hope? Both of you?”

“Fine, thank you.” Granger smiled. “Just busy studying for my NEWTs. I should get back to it.” She stood. “It was lovely to see you, Professor.”

“How is she faring?” Minerva asked once Granger had left the room. “She's not working herself into oblivion, is she? I remember how she got when studying for her OWLs; I was genuinely worried she'd not make it.”

Severus snorted. “I've had to ward the dining room to keep her from staying up all night.”

Minerva's eyebrow rose, but she looked amused. “That doesn't surprise me in the slightest. You seem quite comfortable with each other.”

“What are you insinuating?” he asked coolly.

“Oh, calm down. I'm not insinuating anything, just pointing out what I see. Now that I think about it, I can see why you and Hermione get along so well. You are very much alike.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “If you say so. Don't you have a school to run?”

“I do actually.” Minerva stood. “Don't take too long to decide on the brewing; I fear Poppy will lead a mutiny soon if I don't find another supplier.”

Severus nodded. “Noted. I'll send you an owl.”

Minerva hesitated. “I don't suppose you're done with my Pensieve? I know I said no rush, but I didn't expect to be parted from it for this long.”

“I'll be sure to send it along with Granger soon,” Severus said tersely.

Minerva left through the Floo, and he took their mugs back into the kitchen to wash up. He had been putting off watching his memories for weeks, but it seemed he would have to do it sooner rather than later. He wasn't looking forward to experiencing those memories and the feelings associated with them again.

“Did Professor McGonagall leave?” came Granger's voice from the doorway.

“She did.” Severus realised he was cleaning up the Muggle way, and he placed the mug in the dish rack before turning to face her. “Why do you insist on keeping calling her that? You've earned the use of her first name.”

Scrunching up her nose, Granger shook her head. “I don't think I could. I have too much respect for her authority to be so informal with her.”

Wandlessly drying the mugs, Severus arched a brow but said nothing.

He saw the moment Granger caught on, because she gave a nervous laugh and her cheeks turned slightly pink. “Well, that's completely different. We live together. Also given what we've been through in the past months, it feels strange to be so formal.”

Severus scoffed and turned away to put the mugs back into the cupboard.

“Come on, it's not that difficult.” Her voice was laced with amusement. “Say it with me; Hermione,” she said slowly. “Heermiioone.”

Turning back to her smiling face, eyes shining with mirth, he came to the startling realisation that he had become very fond of her. She had slowly but surely crept under his defences and cemented herself, albeit unknowingly, in his high regards.

“If you're quite done,” he said, “it's time for your potion.”

Her smile faltered slightly. “Yes, of course.”

Severus moved aside so she could reach the cabinet next to the sink, where they kept the potions. Her seizures had stopped completely since she'd started taking the potion, and he was confident that in another month or two her nerves would be fully healed. It gave him a sense of pride and relief, both that his invention had worked – and could theoretically help others – but that she would be pain-free. He recalled the pain etched on her face during that first attack he'd witnessed, several months ago.

Granger emptied the vial, grimaced and put the empty vial in the sink. “You should think of adding some flavour for the next person you make this for.”

Severus snorted. “What would you prefer? Pumpkin Juice?”

“What about a nice strawberry? Ooh, or chocolate frog.”

“I will do no such thing.”

Granger chuckled. “Spoilsport.”

A silver Patronus in the shape of a stag burst through the wall, startling them both, and Potter's voice sounded. “Hermione, can you come over?”

Granger's face was panicked as she stood. “I have to go. Harry wouldn't send his Patronus unless it was serious.”

Severus nodded. “By all means.”

She touched his arm fleetingly as she passed him, and a few seconds later he heard the whoosh of the Floo.

–

Hermione stepped out of the Floo in the dining room at Grimmauld Place and looked around. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but there was no sign of her friend.

“Harry?” she called out, going into the entrance hall.

“Up here,” his voice drifted down from upstairs.

She found him on the third floor in what used to be Sirius' bedroom. He was sitting against the bed, knees drawn up and his head tipped back towards the ceiling. She called his name as she entered, as to not startle him, but he didn't move a muscle. Sitting next to him, Hermione drew her knees up but didn't look at him. Instead, she took in the room, which looked exactly like it did when she first saw it. It was the only room Harry hadn't changed.

“Are you all right?” she asked at length, knowing Harry wouldn't speak first.

“No,” he said to the ceiling, raising a hand to fist in his hair. Behind his glasses, his eyes were red-rimmed.

Hermione looped her arm through his and leant her head on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He sighed. “Ginny broke up with me.”

Hermione lifted her head. “I'm so sorry, Harry.” Honestly, she wasn't too surprised; Ginny's strange behaviour finally made sense.

Harry looked at her, a grimace twisting his features. “I should have seen it coming. Things haven't been good lately, but I didn't imagine she would dump me. And in a bloody letter too.” He showed the crumpled piece of parchment in his fist. Then he let out a low chuckle. “Though I suppose she couldn't just come over, being at school and all.”

He looked away and when he brushed at his face Hermione realised he was crying.

She clasped his hand. “We can sit here however long you want.”

Harry said nothing, only squeezed her hand tighter.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter Fourteen_

The next day after their Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Hermione grabbed Ginny's arm before the redhead could go off to lunch.

“I've got to talk to you,” Hermione said lowly, steering her steps towards the Room of Requirement.

They didn't speak as they climbed the many flights of stairs, and Hermione was trying to figure out what to say to her friend that wouldn't come across as an accusation. She had left Grimmauld Place late the previous night – she and Harry had ordered a takeaway curry and eaten in front of the telly. Returning home, she had found Snape still up, but they hadn't exchanged many words before she'd gone off to bed.

Once in the seventh floor corridor, Hermione passed in front of the wall three times. The door appeared, and they entered. The room had taken the appearance of a small sitting room, with a burning fire and a plum chesterfield sofa group. A silver tray of steaming tea and biscuits sat on the coffee table.

They sat on opposite sides of the table. Leaning her forearms on her knees, Hermione regarded her friend. Ginny refused to meet her eyes, picking on a seam in her robes.

“What happened, Ginny?”

Ginny's eyes were a bit glassy when they met Hermione's. “I couldn't do it anymore. I'm a terrible person.”

“You are not. Not all relationships are meant to last.”

“I thought ours was,” Ginny said, running a hand through her hair. “I've loved Harry forever, it seems. I still do! I just...”

“You're not in love with him anymore?”

She shook her head.

Hermione sighed, sitting up and curling her legs underneath her. “Then it was for the best. Anything other and you would have hurt him even more. Is this what you've been hesitant to talk about these past months?”

Ginny reached for a biscuit, which she crumbled up in her hands as she spoke. “Yes and no.” She looked up. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Hermione's brow furrowed. “Of course; whatever you tell me stays with me.”

“I have feelings for someone else.”

Hermione blinked. “Oh. I see.” Name after name ran through her mind; Neville, Terry Boot, Dean Thomas.“You did the right thing then, Gin. It would be unfair to Harry to stay with him.” She paused. “Do you feel comfortable telling me who?”

Ginny wet her lips and took a deep breath. “It's Luna.”

“Oh.”

“You're freaked out.”

“I'm not freaked out! I'm just,” Hermione sighed and rubbed her forehead, “surprised, is all. Are you still - I mean..” Hermione's cheeks flushed. “I'm sorry, I don't want to say something to offend you.”

Ginny laughed. “Do you mean am I still attracted to men? I am, but I like women too.” She pushed a strand of hair back from her face. “To be honest, I didn't see it coming. One day she was just my friend, and the next I wanted to kiss her. I get butterflies when I think about her, and I want to spend every moment with her that I can. She makes me want to be a better person, you know?”

“Does she feel the same?”

Ginny's smile widened, and she nodded.

“That's great, Ginny.” Hermione felt herself smiling. “I'm really happy for you.”

Ginny's smile faded slightly. “Do you think I should have told Harry about Luna? I don't want to hurt him more than I already have. I feel like he'll take it worse than if I was with a bloke. I will always love him, but I'm not just in love with him anymore.”

Hermione sighed. “I don't know. There aren't any right or wrong answers here, but I do think you should be the one to tell him. Maybe lay low a few weeks? Word travel fast, especially at Hogwarts and especially when it's concerning Harry.”

“So you don't hate me?” Ginny's voice was soft, eyes worried.

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because I hurt Harry, and he's your best friend.”

Pushing herself off the armchair, she went around the table and sat next to Ginny on the sofa. “You're my friend too, Gin. And I could never hate you, especially over something like this. You can't control who you fall in love with.”

Lip quivering, Ginny threw herself around Hermione's neck. Hermione hugged her back automatically. On the coffee table, a box of tissues appeared.

Lunch was already over when they left the Room of Requirement, and the corridors were filled with students going off to their next class or enjoying some free time. In the east corridor on the third floor, they encountered Luna.

Luna's blonde brows furrowed slightly. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” Hermione smiled. “We just had a chat.” Taking a quick look around, Hermione lowered her voice. “I'm happy for you, truly.”

Luna's face brightened. “Thank you. I'm also happy.” She shot Ginny a smile that made Hermione feel like an intruder.

When their lingering gaze started to make Hermione uncomfortable, she excused herself and headed home.

–

Severus pulled his head from the Pensieve and pinched the bridge of his nose.

It had taken several hours, but he had finally worked his way through the memories he had given to Potter as a final act before death. Death hadn't come, and the memories were once again properly his. He leant against the worktop and scrubbed his hands over his face. He couldn't decide if he felt better or worse having seen them. As he'd told Granger months ago, the emotions left behind after a removed memory were faint. Watching his memories back like that – all of them being memories with strong emotions – had given him a thundering headache.

He began preparing a Headache Relief Potion on autopilot; having made it thousands of times meant he could afford to have his mind wander. Severus had been surprised by the overwhelming sense of guilt present in the memories. Just watching them in the Pensieve had been draining, he couldn't imagine what having them back in his head would feel like.

Between Lily Potter and Albus, he was sure he would never feel anything but guilt again. He still remembered many of the bad things; the gut-wrenching ache when Lily wouldn't forgive him, the pain as the Dark Mark was branded into his arm, the panic as the Dark Lord proclaimed his intent to kill the Potters. But the guilt, the all-consuming debilitating guilt, wasn't there anymore.

The crack of Apparition startled him, and the knife slipped dangerously close to his fingers.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” Granger said, unwrapping her scarf. Her eyes looked slightly red-rimmed. Had she been crying?

“It's no bother.” He continued with the potion. From the corner of his eye, he saw Granger take off her coat and sit on the stool by the end of the workbench, which had unofficially become her stool. He had since long stopped caring that she would prop herself there while he brewed.

As he was adjusting the flame on the cauldron, she spoke.

“You used the Pensieve.”

Severus dropped the gurdyroot into the cauldron. “I did.”

“I see.”

He completed the potion in silence. Whilst waiting for it to cool he started cleaning up. Granger still sat on the stool in uncharacteristic silence, and he recognised the look on her face. He rolled his eyes.

“I can tell you have something you want to ask. Just spit it out.”

“It's about your memories,” she said hesitantly.

He gestured for her to continue and downed the headache potion. The relief was instant.

“What did it feel like? Watching them, I mean.”

Severus leant back against the worktop. “Odd. I've watched plenty of other people's memories, but never any of my own. It's an introspective experience.”

“I can imagine.” Granger smiled warmly. “I'm gonna get started on my homework, how about some tea when you're ready?”

At his nod, Granger went into the house. The space instantly felt colder, and a fragrance of jasmine and tuberose clung to the air. Decidedly _not_ lingering with those thoughts, Severus opened the notebook Granger had got him for Christmas. There was nothing he had to brew; there were still a few vials left of Granger's potion and his research had fallen by the wayside years ago.

Severus sighed. Maybe accepting Minerva's offer wasn't such a bad idea after all. It would keep him busy but not swamped; he'd managed to keep the Hospital Wing stocked, teach Potions to dunderheads _and_ be a double agent for almost twenty years without going insane. Out of the three, the brewing was by far the most relaxing and enjoyable.

Tea time, then.

He found Granger in the kitchen, already boiling a kettle.

He leant against the doorway. “How's your studying going?”

“Fine.” Granger put two tea bags in mugs. “Surprisingly, the only subject I'm having difficulties with is Potions.” She gave him a pointed look.

Severus snorted. “Don't blame me, you always had high marks when I taught it.”

She giggled softly and poured the water into the mugs. “You have a very different teaching style than Slughorn.”

“No 'Professor' Slughorn?”

She looked slightly embarrassed as she handed him a mug. “No. His demeanour this year speaks for itself; he just tells us to follow the book and spends the entire class sulking at his desk.”

“I'm not surprised. He didn't want to return to teaching your sixth year, and now he's been back at it two years longer than planned. I've no doubt he's counting down the days to his retirement.”

A sound from the Floo alerted them that a delivery was on the way, and they headed to the sitting room.

The small wooden crate that was hovering in the fireplace had St Mungo's logo stamped on the side, and contained Severus' medicinal potions for the upcoming week. Stepping into the green flames, he grabbed the crate and checked it over quickly for any cracked vials. Finding none, he put the crate on the coffee table and pulled out the first of today's vials. Why medicinal potions tasted like dragon dung, he had no idea.

“I'm glad you're getting better,” Granger said, a soft smile on her face. “How long until you can stop the potions altogether?”

Swallowing the first vial, he fought a grimace. “Another month or so, I'd imagine.”

“Do you want me to be here when the Healer arrives tomorrow?”

He rolled his eyes. “I think I can survive a regular medical examination on my own, thanks.” The second and final vial was even fouler tasting than the first one.

Her cheeks flushed becomingly. “I never said you couldn't. But the damage that cuff did was extensive, and...” she trailed off, and her eyes went vacant. Then she gasped and grabbed his sleeve. “Severus,” she said, frantic eyes meeting his. “The cuff. The bloody cuff. It almost killed you.”

His brow furrowed. “What does that have to do with any-”

She raised a hand. “It blocked your body's ability to heal your injuries, that's why you got sick so quickly. If you had been healthy, who knows how long it would have taken us to figure it out? You could have been slowly dying for months and we never would have known until it was too late.” Her eyes shifted away. “Sweet Circe, how many people are too ill to be saved?”

“Hermione,” he snapped, and she quieted down. “What are you on about?”

Her eyes were wide and fearful. “The cuff. It suppresses the magic, makes the wearer a Squib. But magic isn't meant to be suppressed. It's what killed Narcissa, it has to be! Lucius said she wasted away like something was slowly killing her. And it made you ill, but since you were injured it happened faster than for other people! All inmates in Azkaban have the cuff, don't they?”

Severus' chest tightened. “The suppression cuff is killing people.”

Granger nodded vigorously. “We're born with our magic, it's a part of our DNA. Oh God, they've been using the cuffs since the end of the war.” Her hand was still on his sleeve, and her grip tightened. “Severus, what are we going to do?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. What _were_ they going to do?


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter Fifteen_

Bright and early the next morning, Hermione Flooed to the Ministry. She had sent an urgent owl to Kingsley the night before but had received no answer. Undeterred, she set her alarm for a time that Ron and Harry would call 'the middle of the night'. Armed with a coffee from the chain close to the Ministry she crossed the near-empty Atrium as the large clock struck six o'clock. She passed the fountain – which was back to its usual golden statues of a goblin, an elf and a centaur looking adoringly at a witch and wizard – and checked in her wand at the security desk before taking a lift down to level one. The fountain made her almost as uncomfortable as the twisted version that had been in place during You-Know-Who's reign of the Ministry.

Hermione sipped her coffee and hoped that Kingsley would be in his office. If he wasn't, she would wait by his office until he arrived. This was too important a conversation; she _needed_ to speak with him as soon as possible.

The lift stopped, and the female voice announced they were at level one. It was as deserted as the Atrium, and her footsteps echoed as Hermione walked down the corridor. Casting a quick cleansing charm on her now empty reusable cup, she shrank it and stuffed it into her beaded bag.

Behind the desk outside the Minister's office sat Lavender Brown, eyes firmly on a scroll of parchment.

She looked up at the approaching footsteps and gave a wan smile. “Good morning.”

“Oh, hi Lavender,” Hermione said, unable to mask her surprise. “I didn't know you worked for Kingsley.”

Lavender's smile faltered slightly. “I'm only temping; the usual receptionist is on maternity leave.”

“I see.” Hermione wrung the strap to her bag in her hands. “Is Kingsley in?”

“Not yet, but he should be here any minute. Do you have an appointment?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don't, but I must see him. It's a pressing matter.”

Lavender looked hesitant. “Why don't you wait here until he arrives, and we'll see if he's got the time?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Hermione took the empty chair across from the desk.

“Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

A tense silence filled the space. After a few minutes, Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. “How have you been? I haven't seen you since-”

“New Year's, yes,” Lavender filled in. “I'm good. Work keeps me busy, and Ron too, of course.”

“I don't think I said this last time we met, but I'm happy for you and Ron.”

“You are?” Doubt laced Lavender's voice.

“Of course!” Hermione pushed a rogue curl behind her ear. “I know we haven't always got along, but things are different now. We're different now. I see no reason why we can't be friends. Especially since you're dating one of my best friends.”

Lavender chuckled. “That worked out so well last time.”

“I've learnt a lot since then,” Hermione chuckled, “among other things, that I've got no romantic feelings for Ron at all. And he doesn't see me that way either.”

Lavender smiled slightly, her scars stretching with the movement. “I'd like us to be friends. I haven't got many of those left,” she added, more like an afterthought.

Heavy footsteps in the corridor made them look up. Kingsley looked surprised to see Hermione but smiled at them both.

“Good morning, ladies. Lavender, any messages for me?”

“None so far, Minister Shacklebolt.”

Kingsley smiled warmly and turned to Hermione. “I got your owl, but I didn't get a chance to reply. I was going to this morning, but since you're here I don't have to.”

He showed her into his office – which was just as cluttered as the last time she was there with paper and empty mugs of tea – and waited for her to sit before taking a seat himself. “So,” he started, leaning his elbows on the desk. “What can I do for you, Hermione? Your note was rather cryptic.”

Inhaling deeply, Hermione relayed to Kingsley all the things she and Snape had talked about the previous evening: Lucius' plea, their revelation about the cuff and its link to Narcissa's death. The groove between Kingsley's brows became deeper the longer she spoke.

“What you're saying,” he said slowly once she'd gone silent, “is that the Suppression Cuff is causing people fatal harm due to their magic being suppressed?”

Hermione nodded vigorously. “We have to do something; I've no idea if the damage is reversible, or how long it takes before a person succumbs to it. Narcissa Malfoy only had hers for nine months.”

Kingsley sighed. “I'm not sure what it is you want me to do.”

Hermione's heart sank.

“You don't actually have any proof – only a theory. I can't do much based on a theory.”

“You can investigate,” Hermione said through clenched teeth. “You've got the entire Ministry of Magic at your disposal, surely there's something you can do? Assign a group of people to look into this, interview the guards at Azkaban, check the death certificates. Something!”

“I'm sorry, Hermione. You're welcome to look into it, of course, but there's not much I can do.”

Hermione left the office fuming. She didn't say goodbye to Lavender, not trusting herself to speak. All the respect she'd had for Kingsley as an Auror, a member of the Order and as Minister for Magic was now lost. His words kept echoing in her mind, 'not much he could do' her arse. She felt no more calmed down as she stepped into the Floo and called out for home.

She threw herself down on the sofa and tossed her beaded bag next to her before letting out a frustrated sound. It died out quickly, and then there was only silence. Hermione sighed. Snape had to be out in his lab, otherwise he would have been there making snide remarks about Gryffindors' inability to keep their feelings to themselves.

As predicted, Hermione found him in the garage-cum-potions lab, brewing what appeared to be a variation of the Pepper Up Potion.

“What are you doing?” she asked, shutting the door behind her and sitting on what had become her stool.

“Brewing,” came his sardonic reply, not faltering in his stirring.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione tapped her fingers on the worktop.

“Stop that,” Snape said, putting down the stirring rod and regarding her. “It's extremely bothersome.”

“I know, which is why I'm doing it. What are you brewing?”

He adjusted the flame underneath the cauldron wandlessly. “I am making Pepper Up Potion, for the Hospital Wing.”

“You've accepted Minerva's proposal then?”

“I have. I sent her my counteroffer for a salary last night, and I received the contract this morning.” He waved a hand. “But enough of that. What did Kingsley say?”

Hermione's face darkened. Snape's movements and use of wandless magic had distracted her from her rage over Kingsley's words. “He can't help.”

Snape's eyebrow rose. “Can't or won't?”

She shrugged. “Take your pick.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, and her gaze was drawn to the pale skin of his throat. She swallowed hard. She could just make out the top of his scars underneath his collar.

“I can't say I'm surprised. I've got no bad blood with Kingsley, but he's got different priorities now. Giving prisoners back their magic isn't one of them.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don't know. Granger, if what you've discovered is true, it would be a big fucking mess.” Snape sighed. “I know a few people I could reach out to, see if they know anything. It seems you've got a new research project, congratulations.”

Hermione bit her lower lip. “Is it bad that I'm excited about the research?.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It's not unsurprising. You always were a swot.”

Hermione laughed, putting a hand mockingly on her chest. “How dare you! This from a man who re-wrote a textbook at age sixteen. If I'm a swot, so are you. We could get matching mugs, swot number one and swot number two,” she added with a teasing grin.

Snape looked at her blankly for a second, then let out a snorting laugh. He grabbed the worktop to steady himself, still laughing. This made Hermione giggle, and soon she too was laughing loudly. Several minutes later she wiped tears from her eyes, holding her aching belly. It had been some time since she last laughed like that.

She met Snape's dark eyes and felt something flutter in her chest.

His face was open, eyes alight with mirth. Then he blinked and his face was blank. “We'll start on the research soon. Now piss off, I've got a lot of potions to finish.”

She smiled and slid off the stool. “As you wish. See you at dinner.”

–

The possible fatality of the Suppression Cuffs was never far from Hermione's mind over the following weeks. Between that discovery, her upcoming NEWTs and attempting to keep a somewhat balanced sleep schedule, she was knackered.

Hermione had also come to the unfortunate realisation – after their conversation about her meeting with Kingsley – that she fancied Snape. Quite a lot. Which made her very uncomfortable for many reasons, least of all not that he was a former teacher and almost twice her age. It couldn't be helped though. She fancied him and it was mortifying. The best she could do was keep her head down and try to move on with her life. If she was lucky, he wouldn't notice.

The last Saturday in February, Hermione donned her warmest cloak and Gryffindor scarf and Flooed to Hogwarts. Snape hadn't made a comment – merely scoffed – when she came downstairs in her garb. He had definitely noticed her avoiding him, and so the air was once again filled with the tense and awkward silence that had been prevalent his first few weeks in the house.

In the Three Broomsticks she met up with Ron, who had a free afternoon to watch the Quidditch match with her. Harry had opted out of joining them, which Hermione thought was a smart idea.

“You all right?” Ron asked as they walked up towards the Quidditch Pitch. “I haven't spoken to you in a while.”

“I'm fine, just busy. How are you? How's Lavender?”

Ron grinned. “I'm good; she's good. It's really different now, you know?” He looked suddenly abashed. “We've talked about moving in together; I spend most of my time at hers anyway.”

“That's great, Ron. I think it would be good for you to get some distance from the Burrow.”

“Yeah, it's a bit depressing, really.”

“I spoke to Lavender a few weeks ago while I was waiting for Kingsley. I hope she didn't think I was overstepping or anything like that. I was serious when I said that I'd like us to be friends.”

“Nah, you're all right. She mentioned that you'd talked. What were you doing visiting Kingsley that early in the morning? Putting in a request for them to take Snape back?” He chuckled at his own joke, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. That was funny.”

She nudged his shoulder. “Hilarious. It's actually something I need to talk with you and Harry about. Why don't you come over after training next week?”

“The next weeks are really busy, I'm not sure that's a good time. Also, I'd prefer not to meet at yours. Hero or not, Snape still scares me.”

“Fine, we'll meet at Harry's instead. But this is important, so try to make time.”

He slung an arm over her shoulder. “Of course.”

They had reached the Quidditch pitch, and Hermione spotted Neville and Luna by the entrance to the stands. A booming voice called out Ron's name, and then Hagrid appeared. After both of them had been thoroughly hugged by him, they all moved up the stands to the Gryffindor section. A sea of red and gold greeted them, and with Hagrid leading they found a good place to sit. They were playing against Hufflepuff, and the black and yellow colour scheme filled almost half the stadium.

“Look,” Ron said, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the crowd, and pointing to a witch with lilac hair sitting in the staff section. “That's Brier Asp, the manager for the Holyhead Harpies. I hope Gin doesn't cock this up.”

“She won't,” Luna said, adjusting her lion-shaped hat. “She'll do brilliantly.”

The calls of agreement were swallowed by the announcer – a Ravenclaw student Hermione didn't recognise – and cheers went up. The two teams entered the pitch – little specks of red and yellow. The captain's badge shone on the front of Ginny's robes as she stepped forwards to shake the Hufflepuff captain's hand. The teams mounted their brooms, and the game started.

It was clear that whilst the teams were fairly evenly matched, Ginny was in a league of her own. Fifteen minutes into the match and she'd already scored five goals for Gryffindor. Hermione clapped until her hands were numb after each one.The wind was cold but her jumping and shouting kept her warm. Forty-five minutes later the Gryffindor seeker caught the snitch and the match was over, securing the victory for Gryffindor. Hermione jumped and cheered and was squished into Ron's arms.

Once again trailing Hagrid they made their way down towards the changing rooms. They didn't have to wait for long before Ginny appeared, sweaty but beaming.

“You were brilliant, Gin!” Ron boomed, sweeping his sister up in a hug. “The Harpies would be barking to not offer you a position.”

“We'll see,” Ginny grinned as she was released. “I'm meeting Asp in a few minutes.”

Luna raised her wand and sent a Freshening Up Spell in Ginny's direction. “I'm sure it'll go great.”

Ginny smiled warmly. “Thank you. I'll see you later.” She turned to Hermione. “I'm glad you came.”

Hermione smiled. “Me too. Now go.”

Once Ginny had disappeared around the corner, Ron turned to the others. “You're coming to the pub night tomorrow, I hope? My birthday isn't until Monday, but I'm spending the evening at the Burrow.”

“Sounds good,” Neville smiled. “Where are we meeting? The Three Broomsticks?”

Ron shook his head. “There's a new pub in Diagon Alley called the Drunken Hippogriff; they've got excellent onion rings. Around nine? Let Gin know.”

The four friends parted ways – Neville and Luna back to Hogwarts and Hermione and Ron down to the Three Broomsticks.

“I assume Harry is coming tomorrow?”

Ron looked surprised. “He's my best mate; of course he is. Why?”

“It might get tense, with him and Ginny.”

“Oh, right. It'll be fine. Did she tell you why she broke up with him?”

Hermione shook her head. “I'm not going to tell you; that's not my place. She'll tell you if or when she wants to.”

Ron scoffed. “I hate it when you're right.”

“What do you mean? I'm always right.” Hermione nudged his shoulder. The entered the Three Broomsticks, and Hermione grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Tell Snape I said hi.” Ron gave an uneasy smile. “Nope, that sounds wrong.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped into the Floo.


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter Sixteen_

After her therapy session the next day, Hermione went into central London to pick up Ron's birthday present: tickets to a Tottenham match. Harry had got Ron hooked on Muggle football the previous summer and Ron had proclaimed Tottenham to be his favourite team only to annoy Harry (whose favourite team was Arsenal). Tickets acquired, she headed into the Leaky Cauldron to Floo home.

As she filled the kettle in the kitchen she suddenly stopped and looked out the window. A distinctly Snape-shaped figure was standing in the greenhouse. She frowned. What on earth was he doing? Putting on her coat and scarf, she went outside, crossing the damp grass to get out of the drizzle.

She opened the door to the greenhouse and stepped inside. “What are you doing?”

Snape, who had been muttering to himself, stopped to look at her. She tried to ignore the swoop in her stomach as his intense dark eyes met hers.

“May I have use of this greenhouse?”

Hermione slipped her scarf off, as it was much warmer in there than outside. He must have put a warming spell on the greenhouse. “Yes, of course.”

“Good, cause I've already started.”

“Started what?”

He stepped aside, revealing the previously dry and poorly neglected planters. They looked transformed, with fresh soil and new signs which identified the contents of each planter. “There are plenty of ingredients that will cost me half as much to grow myself rather than send for them. I'll get better quality too.”

“I never realised a Potions Master had to be proficient in Herbology,” she said, inspecting the planters, “but it makes sense.”

Snape scoffed and bent next to her to continue planting. “There is more to potions than adding ingredients to a cauldron and stirring. You need to be aware of how each ingredient will react with each other and how to balance out their properties, the difference between cauldron materials and sizes and how it impacts your potion. Then, if you get to a higher level of studying Potions there is the addition of Arithmancy and Charms.”

“Wow,” Hermione said, sitting on a small bright yellow bench her mother had once painted. “Why don't they teach us that at Hogwarts?”

Snorting, Snape ceased his planting to regard her. “Because all my time was spent making sure you dunderheads didn't blow up yourselves or each other.”

Hermione giggled. “That's true, I suppose. What ingredients are you planting?”

She enjoyed listening to him describe what he'd already planted, as well as his plans for the rest of the greenhouse and garden. The greenhouse could largely be tended with magic, and Hermione reminded him there were several wards and Notice me not-charms on the garden. She liked the small signs of excitement on his person; his hand gestures got a bit larger, his voice a little faster. Twice, she caught herself smiling at him a bit too widely, but if he noticed, he didn't let on.

–

Hermione landed in Diagon Alley with a CRACK and barely managed to avoid stepping into a large puddle. She had made an effort for the occasion, even wearing a bit of copper eyeshadow Ginny had given her for Christmas. It had stopped raining since that afternoon, but the wind had picked up. She walked a bit faster towards the pub.

The Drunken Hippogriff had opened on a side street in Diagon Alley only a few months ago. Warm lights shone out in the evening darkness, and a wall of sound blasted towards Hermione when she pulled the door open. She spotted Ron's freckled face and red hair in a booth and made her way over.

His face lit up when he saw her. “'Mione!” His arms went around her tightly, smooshing her into his chest. Judging by his bright eyes and pink cheeks, she suspected he was already a few pints ahead of her.

As Ron released her and she got her bearings back, Hermione noticed she was the first of her friends to arrive. She recognised the others from New Year's, but couldn't recall any of their names. A dimpled smile shot in her direction. Oh, except for him. Andrew, the American. Ugh.

“I'm gonna get a pint,” she said, gesturing to the bar.

“Harry's on his way,” Ron said, leaning in so he could lower his voice. “And Lav's in the loo.”

Hermione chuckled. “Thanks. It's my round, anyone want anything?”

After a chorus of 'no's' and shaking heads, she went over to the bar. Whilst waiting for the barman she spotted Lavender coming out from the lavatory. Their eyes met, and the blonde hesitated for a second before redirecting her steps towards the bar.

“Thank Merlin you're here,” she said once she'd reached Hermione. “All that the Auror-wannabes have talked about so far is their training. I've been bored out of my mind.”

Hermione snorted. “I can imagine.”

Pint in hand, Hermione followed Lavender back to the table. Sitting, she sipped her pint and listened to the conversation being held. She was bored within thirty seconds. Listening as they compared combat techniques and who was better at resisting the Imperius Curse wasn't her idea of a good time. Instead she turned to Lavender, who was fiddling with the straw of her drink with eyes half glazed over from not paying attention.

Hermione leant across the table. “How are you liking working at the Ministry?”

Lavender smiled. “I like it a lot. I might see about getting a position elsewhere in the Ministry once Isabel comes back from her leave.”

“That's nice.” Hermione's smile felt forced. She couldn't imagine ever working for the Ministry.

Lavender chuckled. “I don't see myself working there forever, but it's fine for now. It gives me time to figure out what I want to do with my life.”

Nodding, Hermione sipped her pint. “I still haven't figured that part out, so I'm open to any suggestions you may have.”

“Really? I thought you would have figured that out years ago. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...”

“That's all right,” Hermione assured her. “I did have it figured out, but then last year happened.” She shrugged. “I don't know, I suppose I'm not in such a rush to figure stuff out anymore.”

“I know what you mean.” Lavender seemed to burrow slightly more into Ron's side. “Things will figure themselves out.”

Over Lavender's shoulder, Hermione spotted the bespectacled face of Harry and waved to catch his attention. He smiled and waved back, then pointed to the bar and held up two fingers. Hermione shook her head and raised her still full glass.

A minute later, Harry slid into the booth next to her and put his pint on the table. “Sorry, I'm late,” he said, throwing his jacket over the back of the booth. “You look nice,” he commented, buffing Hermione's shoulder.

She smiled. “Thanks, you too. Trouble finding the place?” she added cheekily.

He chuckled. “Funny. No, I was putting in new tile in the kitchen. Lost track of the time.”

“The house looks beautiful,” Lavender said. “I didn't see it before, but Ron has said it's quite the transformation.”

Hermione nodded. “It is. You should be proud of yourself; you've worked very hard.”

The tips of Harry's ears went pink. “I enjoy doing it. Even Kreacher has stopped complaining about losing the wall-mounted elf heads.”

Hermione, who had been taking a sip of her pint, snorted and got beer up her nose and on her chin. Grinning as Harry and Lavender laughed, she waved her hand to dry herself off. She'd worked on her wandless magic lately, and she was very pleased with the results. She'd never be as proficient at it as Snape was, but if she could master it half as well as he did, she would be satisfied.

It was only a few minutes later that Neville, Luna and Ginny arrived. Chairs were pulled up to the table, more pints were ordered and Ron made a hasty introduction now that everybody had arrived. Hermione gave him his birthday present – and made him promise not to take her with him – and got a laugh and a kiss on her curls as a response.

Hermione was warm, both from the atmosphere and the alcohol in her system. Conversations were lively, and she talked and laughed and in that moment everything was all right. She sneaked a glance at Ginny, who was in a deep discussion with Ron about Quidditch, her arm slung casually over the back of Luna's chair. Luna was, in turn, talking to Neville about magical plants. Finding herself in between conversations but not a part of any, Hermione took the opportunity to head to the loo. On her way back to the table she stopped at the bar for another drink.

As she was waiting for the barman, she felt a body next to her. Glancing slightly to her right, she inwardly groaned.

“How you've been?” Andrew grinned, leaning his elbow on the bar and stepping in too close to her personal space.

She took a step back. “Busy. You?”

He grinned. “Busy. The Auror training is really intense; we've had a few who dropped out. Couldn't take the heat.”

“Given that we have been at war, I don't find that odd or amusing at all,” her voice was cold.

“Hey, mate.” Harry suddenly appeared by her elbow. “Is there a problem?”

“None,” Hermione said, raising her chin slightly. “Right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Andrew said sheepishly before going back to the table.

“I didn't need a rescue,” Hermione said sternly to Harry, who looked abashed.

“That wasn't my intention, honestly. I wanted to ask you,” he lowered his voice, “is there something going on between Ginny and Luna?”

Hermione tried to keep her expression neutral, but judging by Harry's face she had been unsuccessful.

Harry glanced over at the table. “Why didn't she tell me?”

“I don't know,” Hermione sighed. “But you need to talk with her about that, not me.”

Running a hand through his hair, which only served to make it even messier, Harry nodded. “You're right. I just want her to be happy, you know?”

Hermione smiled. “I know you do. You're a good one, Harry Potter.”

With a smile, he touched her arm and went back to the table. Hermione watched him as he approached Ginny and bent to say something in her ear. Though she couldn't see Ginny's expression, Hermione saw the way her shoulders stiffened.

The barman's voice made her turn back. “What can I get you, love?”

“A pint of lager, please.”

By the time she was going back to the table with her pint, Ginny and Harry had disappeared to the corner of the room. Hermione was certain they'd cast a Muffliato, otherwise they wouldn't talk so openly. Sipping her pint, she cast a glance in their direction every now and then. Ginny was leaning against the wall and Harry was by her side, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. One hand left his pocket to rub at his hair at something Ginny said. Then she smiled, and his shoulders relaxed. Ginny wiped at her eyes, and then they were hugging fiercely.

“I'm glad she decided to tell him,” Luna said, and Hermione looked away from the couple. “They have a lot of history, and I hope they can be friends.”

Hermione smiled. “Me too.”

When Harry and Ginny came back to the table, both looked bright-eyed but happy. When Ginny sat, she took Luna's hand on the table.

They stayed until last orders, and Hermione hugged her friends tightly before they all went in different directions; Ginny, Luna and Neville back to Hogwarts, Harry to Grimmauld Place and Ron and Lavender to her flat in Newham. Although she'd only had two pints and wasn't even close to inebriated, she thought it best not to Apparate. She raised her wand and stepped back as the breeze from the appearing Knight Bus blew her hair all around her face. Stepping on, she gave her address to the conductor – who curiously was _not_ Stan Shunpike – and chose a seat near the back on the empty bus. The bus shot ahead, and she grabbed the railing to hang on.

The bus stopped only a few minutes later, and the conductor called out, “Kingston Vale, that's Kingston Vale!”

Hermione gave a smile and wave before exiting, and she had barely stepped onto the kerb before the bus disappeared with a loud CRACK. The house was dark, and she stepped inside quietly. Snape must have already gone to bed. Pulling off her boots and coat, Hermione sighed and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. She would be up for a while; she never could sleep well when she had been drinking.

A sound from the sitting room made her tense.

She drew her wand, and cast Homenum Revelio. It showed someone was in the sitting room, and Hermione crept out of the kitchen. The sitting room was pitch black, but she saw movement and quickly cast Lumos.

Snape flinched at the light, and Hermione lowered her wand.

“Sorry.” She lit a table lamp with her wand, casting the sitting room in a dim but comfortable light, and pocketed her wand. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

He regarded her for a moment before looking away.

“Is something the matter?”

When he didn't answer, Hermione took a deep breath and took the seat next to him on the sofa. He didn't react, nor move from his position. Bracing herself, she put a hand on his shoulder.

“Severus, you're scaring me.”

He finally turned his head to look at her then, and her stomach dropped. “Lucius is dead.”

She gasped. “What? How?”

“Kingsley sent an owl a few hours ago. He was found in his cell earlier today.”

“Oh, Severus. I'm so sorry.”

She hung her head, a million thoughts flying through her mind. It had only been weeks since she saw Lucius, and he'd looked bad but not near death. It was the cuff, it had to be. What did this mean?

Something warm touched her hand, Hermione's head jerked up. Snape had covered her hand with his own and lowered them to rest between them on the sofa. Her stomach flipped, and her heart was racing. His dark eyes seemed to bore right through her. His hand was warm on hers, thumb tracing patterns on her palm and sending sensations straight to her core.

Hermione leant in – or did he? – and his breath washed over her face. Every nerve in her body was alight with anticipation. The moment stretched.

Then the intensity in his eyes faded, and he pulled back. His hand dropped from hers, and she suddenly felt very cold.

“It's late,” Snape said, voice raspy. Then he stood. “Night, Granger.”

He left, and she heard him go upstairs and the closing of a door. She was left on the sofa feeling dazed and confused.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe, sane and healthy 💗

_Chapter Seventeen_

Severus woke with a gasp. A dream. It had only been a dream. He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to ignore his semi-erect cock. No light peaked through the shut blinds, and he cast a wandless Tempus charm. It was just past 5 am.

He shut his eyes. Involuntarily, images from his dream came flooding back, containing scenes from the previous night. Distraught as he had been – and still was, make no mistake – over Lucius' passing, he hadn't failed to notice how utterly lovely Granger had looked. Her warmth and her scent had washed over him and he had wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her. In his dream, he hadn't pulled back. In his dream, he had captured her lips with his. He imagined the noise she would make when he coaxed her mouth open with his tongue. How would her curls feel underneath his hands? What would her skin taste like when he kissed down her neck? He groaned, rolling over to his side in hopes of quenching his body's urges.

Salazar's sweaty ballsack, he was a disgusting excuse for a human being. Lusting after a girl half his age, who also was a former student. That he would sink so low. Unfortunately, his body didn't seem to agree as his erection stayed firmly in place. With a frustrated sigh, he turned back onto his back and reached for his cock. As his hand moved up and down, his mind went further than his dream had. He imagined pulling off her jumper, closing one hand over her breast. Maybe bending down to taste her flesh. What would she sound like? A breathless gasp, or maybe a deep-throated groan? His hand moved faster, hips undulating with every stroke. He imagined taking off her knickers and dipping his fingers between her wet folds. His balls tightened. The last image his mind provided before he came over his hand and stomach was how she would look underneath him in throes of pleasure.

“ _Hermione.”_

Laying panting, hand sticky and loosely wrapped around his shrinking cock, he was grateful he'd remembered to put up silencing charms. Cleaning himself up wandlessly, he rose, knowing he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. After getting dressed he crossed the landing and did not allow himself to linger outside Granger's door. No good could come from that.

He read the morning paper as he ate his breakfast, as he did most mornings. Unlike most mornings, though, he had difficulties focusing on the day's headlines. Instead, his focus was on his former student still asleep upstairs. Disgusted by his moral shortcomings, he cleaned his empty mug and went out to the lab to start brewing. He had four different potions that needed to be shipped by noon, so he had to get a move on.

Severus was halfway through brewing Bruise-Healing Paste when a timid knock came on the door. He stiffened, and it took him a few seconds to call out 'enter'. Granger entered timidly, her hair down and wild around her shoulders.

“Morning,” she said, standing uncomfortably at the end of the workbench.

He harrumphed in reply and turned his attention back to his brewing. He couldn't look at her without wanting to touch her. He was so fucked.

“I wanted to see how you were doing, after yesterday.”

His head snapped up, meeting her brown eyes. Did she mean? Then he remembered. Lucius' death. Bloody buggering hell. What kind of person was he to forget his old friend's passing because of a woman? Barely a woman, at that.

“I'm fine,” he said tersely, stirring the potion thrice counter-clockwise before dousing the flame.

“Severus, you don't-”

He slammed his hand down on the worktop, and she jumped. “I said I'm fine. Why don't you go bother someone who wants your company?”

Her face went pink, then white, and she left the garage without a word. He threw a jar of beetle eyes against the wall in frustration.

–

Hermione avoided the house for the rest of the day, both out of hurt from Snape's words and her own conflicted feelings. There had been a _moment_ between them the previous night; there was no doubt about it. It confused her and enraged her at the same time. Infuriating bloody man.

She fled to Hogwarts, finding a secluded corner in the library where she set up a study corner. Frustratingly, she found she couldn't concentrate as well as she did at home. She had become accustomed to having Snape around while she studied, even if it was just a quick conversation over a cup of tea on one of their rare breaks.

Leaning her chin on her hand as she read _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ , she found she had to re-read every page twice. This was going horribly. If she didn't finish this chapter today, her whole schedule would be off.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?”

Hermione looked up at Ginny. “I'm trying to study.”

Ginny tilted her head and pulled out the chair opposite. Sitting, she moved a few books so she could rest her forearms on the table. “I figured that out. I meant, why are you studying here? You're usually not here on Mondays.”

Sighing, Hermione closed the book – after putting a bookmark as not to lose her place – and leaned back in her chair. “I had to get out of the house.”

Ginny's brows rose. “Why?” Then she frowned. “Snape didn't do anything, right? Just say the word, and I'll hex him.”

“No, it's...” Hermione trailed off, glanced around that no one was in the close vicinity and cast a Muffliato. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell Ginny about what had happened the previous night but found no words came out. Instead, her throat burnt and hot tears gathered in her eyes. “Sweet Circe,” she mumbled, looking away and blinking furiously.

Ginny's hand covered hers. “It's all right. You don't have to talk about it, but I'm here if you do.”

Hermione chuckled. “It feels strange to be at this end of this conversation for once.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I've got feelings for him.” She wet her dry lips. “For Snape.”

“Oh,” Ginny said, letting go of her hand and sitting back. “I see. How long?”

“I'm not sure,” Hermione admitted. “I only realised myself a few weeks ago.”

“I see.”

Hermione frowned. “You're judging me.”

“I'm not, honestly!” Ginny ran a hand through her hair. “I'm just surprised. You can't help who you fall for.” She laughed softly. “I should know.” She paused. “Does he feel the same?”

Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. “I'm sure he doesn't.” She told Ginny what had happened the previous night, and Snape's hurtful words this morning. She shared how their relationship had become an easy one over the past months, and how much she respected and admired him.

Ginny looked pensive. “You're not going to like what I have to say.”

Hermione tensed up.

“You should talk to him about this, ask him how he feels.”

Scoffing, Hermione pushed her curls back from her face. “I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because! This isn't like you and Luna. It would be mortifying to speak up only to be rejected. We still have to live in the same house for months. I'm not sure I could bear that.”

“You don't have to decide anything now.” Ginny tilted her head. “Why don't you join us at the Burrow later for Ron's birthday bash? I know they'll love to see you; it's been months.”

Hermione only hesitated for a second before accepting the offer. She didn't feel ready to face Snape yet, and hopefully by the time she got back home, he would be asleep. It would give her more time to figure out what to do.

A flash of blonde hair and black robes moved between the stacks, and Luna appeared. “Oh, hello Hermione,” Luna said with a smile, leaning her hip against the side of Ginny's chair. “I didn't expect to see you today.”

“Just needed a change of scenery for my studying,” Hermione replied.

Ginny shifted position, sliding her arm around Luna. “Are you off to Divination?”

“I am.” Luna ran her hand over Ginny's hair. “I'll see you at lunch.” Bending down, she placed a quick kiss on Ginny's cheek.

Once Luna had skipped out of the library, Hermione spoke. “You're official now?”

Smiling, Ginny nodded. “After Harry and I talked last night, we decided it was time.”

Hermione matched Ginny's smile. “I'm happy for you. Both of you.”

“Thanks. Can you help me with the Charms homework? I can't figure out what Flitwick means.”

Hermione tried to keep her mind focused on her studying and not on Snape, and for the most part, she managed just fine. She ate lunch in the Great Hall – although some of the stares from other students made her uncomfortable – and had a quick cup of tea with Hagrid before his afternoon classes started. As the final bell of the day rang, Ginny and Luna fetched Hermione from the library and the trio made their way down to the gates to Apparate to Devon. It was still light out, and as Hermione appeared outside the Burrow, the sun was just beginning to set over the hills.

The atmosphere inside the Burrow was always warm – and not just from the fire merrily burning in the hearth – and slightly chaotic, and that night was no different, even though the absence of Fred hung around the room. Once the excitement of Hermione being there had settled, she was able to go into the kitchen for a breather.

Mrs Weasley was by the stove, putting candles on a huge Battenberg cake whilst simultaneously doing the washing up.

Hermione leant against the kitchen table. “Do you need help with anything, Mrs Weasley?”

“Oh, I'm almost finished, but thank you,” Mrs Weasley replied as she stuck the final candle in the cake. She turned and gave Hermione a warm smile. “How are you, dear? I feel as if we haven't spoken in ages?”

“I'm good, just busy studying.”

“You're not working too hard, I hope?” Mrs Weasley chuckled. “How is Severus coping? Poor man; it can't be easy.”

Something tightened in Hermione's chest. “He's all right, I suppose. He's brewing for the Hospital Wing now, so he's keeping busy too.”

Mrs Weasley turned back to dry the now clean dishes. “I can't imagine how difficult this is for him. We all thought...well, I'm glad that he turned out to be on our side.”

The sound of the front door opening, and the accompanying sound of Ron, Lavender and Harry arriving. The hours that followed were both overwhelming and deeply enjoyable, as all Weasley gatherings were. The entire clan was there – except for Charlie who had gone back to Romania – including Bill and Fleur, who was now sporting a generous baby bump. Bill was the very picture of a doting husband and expectant father, and Fleur practically had to bat him away from her.

Hermione sat next to Harry on the sofa, talking and eating cake. The almond and chocolate Battenberg was truly delicious, and she enjoyed the grin on Ron's face almost as much as the cake. It was late when they all stood, full of cake and tea and warm from all the love.

Luna and Ginny Apparated back to Hogwarts, then Ron and Lavender to London. There was a heavy feeling in Hermione's stomach. She wasn't ready to go home.

Harry smiled and adjusted her knitted hat. “We'll catch up soon? Maybe later this week?”

“Could I stay with you? Just for tonight?”

He frowned. “Has something happened? Did he do anything?”

“No, no,” she was quick to assure him. “Nothing's happened, I promise. Please, Harry.”

“Of course you can. Side-along?”

Nodding, Hermione wrapped her arm tightly around Harry's and they Apparated. They landed in foggy London, and Harry quickly ushered them both inside.

Kreacher appeared with a crack and bowed. “Welcome home Master, and welcome Miss Granger. Can Kreacher get you anything?”

“No, thank you,” Hermione said, hanging up her coat.

“We're good,” Harry said, and Kreacher bowed again before disappearing. “Do you want to watch a film? Or are you too tired?”

“A film sounds great.”

They went up to the drawing-room where Harry had installed a big TV (and was very pleased he'd been able to get it working with all the magical energy in the house). They curled up in armchairs and watched a western film Hermione couldn't summarise even if she tried. Once it was over, Harry leant her a spare toothbrush and showed her to a guest-room on the second floor with soft taupe walls and a soft double bed.

Hermione fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. Her dreams were filled with a sense of longing, of fingers running through black hair and lips against skin. She woke feeling well rested the next morning and ran a hand over her curls as she sat up in bed. It probably would be for the best if she went home for a change of clothes before going up to Hogwarts for her classes. She cast a Tempus to see how much time she had and then scrambled out of bed. Her classes would be starting in only twenty minutes!

She arrived outside the Hogwarts gates barely ten minutes later with a piece of toast in her hand – courtesy of Kreacher – and hurried up towards the castle.

Ginny took one look at Hermione's face – which was pink with exertion – when she joined the line of students outside the greenhouse and raised her eyebrows. “Did you talk?”

Hermione shook her head and swallowed the last of her toast before confessing, “I haven't been home yet. I stayed over at Harry's. Oh, don't look at me like that.”

Ginny snorted and rolled her eyes. “I'm not looking at you in any way. But you can't avoid him forever.”

The door to the greenhouse opened, and she went in ahead of Hermione. Knowing that Ginny was right, Hermione sighed and joined her for Herbology. While she would usually stay and study for a few hours on Tuesdays, she knew she was just delaying the inevitable. She needed to go home. Mostly because she hadn't showered since Sunday and felt disgusting, but also to talk to Snape.

After the DADA class, Hermione made her way down to the Three Broomsticks to use the Floo. It would have been easier to just Apparate, but she was taking as much time as she could. Her voice faltered slightly as she called out her address.

As soon as she landed in the sitting room, there was a high pitched noise. Confused, she stepped out of the Floo and silenced the sound with a wave of her wand. Then came the slam of a door and footsteps. She looked up to see Snape standing in the doorway, looking livid.

“Where the fuck have you been?”


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter Eighteen_

Severus had spent the last day peddling between anger and panic. After cleaning up the beetle eyes from the walls of the lab, he finished his brewing and went inside. When he found the house empty, he figured Granger had just popped out for a bit. Then the hours went by, and there was no sight of her. He had paced, grumbled, cursed insufferable know-it-alls, and considered calling someone through the Floo to ask of her whereabouts.

As the sun rose on Tuesday morning and he realised she still hadn't returned home, he put an alert on the Floo. If she wasn't back by noon he'd have to send out an alarm. Potter probably knew where she was, and if that meant he had to speak with The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Him, he would. Severus' mind was miles away as he started the brewing he needed to get done for the day, and he checked the time obsessively. He burnt the first two batches of Invigoration Draught and almost cut himself while slicing Goosegrass, after which he gave up being productive. He paced the length of the lab, trying to not pay attention to the small but persistent voice in the back of his mind reminding him that she could have gone home with someone else. He felt sick. On his next pass by the door he checked the time. It was just after eleven. Sod it. He couldn't wait until noon. He needed answers now.

Then the alert on the Floo went off.

He rushed into the house and came to a halt in the sitting room. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Granger's eyes went wide, mouth slightly open and she looked very shocked to see him. “I had classes...” Granger said feebly, but he cut her off.

“That's a rubbish excuse; you've been gone for over a day! You didn't have classes yesterday.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “Since my company was unwanted here, I did as you said and went away to bother someone else.”

He inhaled sharply and stepped forwards into the room. “Why didn't you send an owl? You could have been lying injured somewhere, and I'd have no way of helping.”

“After your behaviour yesterday I didn't think you'd want to!” she fired back. “Gods, half the time I can't tell if you merely tolerate me or if you enjoy having me around. What do you even want, Severus?”

Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright in anger and the tips of her hair crackling with her magic. She was breathtaking. Before he knew what he was doing – before he could stop himself – he had stepped into her space, clasped her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft and warm. He was about to pull back when she responded, moving her lips against his and gripping his waist.

Her mouth opened against his, and the first touch of their tongues drew a moan from her. The reality of what he was doing washed over him like a bucket of ice water and he pushed her away, staggering back a few steps. She looked surprised, lips parted and slightly swollen.

“Oh, sweet Merlin,” he groaned, turning from her and scrubbing his hands over his face. He could still taste her, and all he wanted was to pull her close again. “What are we doing?”

She cleared her throat, a loud sound in the suddenly quiet room. “I don't have much experience with these things, but I do believe we were kissing.”

He chuckled dryly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is that what that was.”

The silence was deafening.

“We could do that again.”

Severus turned to her. Taking in her unsure but hopeful face made him feel like the worst sort of villain. “That's not a good idea.”

Her face fell slightly, brows knitting together. “Why not?”

His voice took on a pleading quality. “Hermione, you don't want this.”

“Don't presume to tell me what I want,” she bit back. Then her bravado seemed to fade. “I thought...” her voice faltered. “Do you have feelings for me?”

Fucking hell. “You don't know what you're asking.”

She took a step towards him. “I do know what I'm asking. I... I have feelings for you, Severus. I'm not sure what they are, and frankly they frighten me just a bit, but they are there. And I think you feel something for me too.”

His insides squeezed together. “I can't.”

“You can't, or you don't?”

He sighed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. Merlin, what was he doing? “I am too old for you, and you used to be my student. There's nothing as distasteful as a teacher lusting after a student.”

“Since I hardly believe you had warm feelings when I was under your tutelage. It's a good thing you're not my teacher, then.”

Severus chuckled dryly and turned his eyes back to her. Beautiful, fierce, stubborn Hermione. Her tenacity was just one of the many things he admired about her. “You are also, in effect, my jailer. People will have a problem with that power imbalance. They'll most likely think I've hexed you or slipped you a potion.”

“Who cares what other people think?”

“You say that now, but you don't know how cruel people can be.”

Hermione laughed, but it was a sorrowful one. “I don't? I've had my blood-statusthrown into my face for years, I have been despised and hunted and tortured over something I can't control. I'm well aware of how cruel people can be, Severus, and I will not let that influence how I live my life or who I love.”

Something squeezed around his heart at her words. How easy it would be to give in, to sink into her and forget about everything outside these four walls. But she wasn't for him.

“Hermione,” he said sharply. “I can't.”

The finality in his tone seemed to resonate with her, and she averted her eyes. “I see. I'm sorry. I won't bring it up again.”

She pushed past him and headed upstairs. He heard what sounded like a sob, then a door slammed before it went quiet.

Severus sank down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands.

What had he done? He hated this – hated how he felt. His feelings for her made him feel like a lecherous old man. Because she had been right. He had feelings for her. He didn't know when they'd started; when she'd managed to slip through his cracks and fill his insides with something warm and light. Something that made him think he deserved to be loved by her.

He scoffed. He was a fool. It could never be. Their proximity, this forced intimacy wasn't natural, and it had influenced her feelings. It had to be so. They would go back to how things were, and when his sentence was up he would leave and she would find someone far more suitable.

It was what she deserved.

–

The following days were tense. Granger – he couldn't bring himself to think of her as Hermione anymore – mostly avoided him. He was unsure where she went, but she let him know when she was leaving in the morning and always came home in the early evenings.

That Thursday evening she was pale and drawn when she joined him in the kitchen as he was making tea.

“I've been toAndromeda's, to visit Draco,” she said, accepting the offered mug of Lady Grey.

This surprised Severus. He'd been aware that Draco was spending his two year sentence in house-arrest rather than in Azkaban, but he hadn't known the identity of his minder. Andromeda Tonks – being his aunt and now only living family – was a logical option, and Severus was glad the youngest Malfoy was in her care. Maybe he would get the chance to unlearn the hateful rhetoric he'd been exposed to since infancy.

“How was he?”

“As expected for someone who has lost both their parents.” Granger sighed. “I offered him condolences from both of us.”

“How did he take it?”

“It was strange,” she said, getting a faraway look in her eyes. “He seemed different than I remembered. He didn't even call me Mudblood once.”

Severus flinched at her use of that word and cleared his throat. “I daresay the past months have given him time for introspection.”

Granger shrugged. “Perhaps. I'm not sure how much is from grief and stress, but he looked unwell. If we're right about the cuff, it can be disastrous for him. He's been wearing it almost as long as his parents did.”

“Then we should start looking into it. Before it's too late.”

“Agreed.” Granger sipped her tea. “I'll check the library at Hogwarts tomorrow after my classes, maybe there's something there that can help us. If not about the cuff, then about magical suppression or something of the like. Also, you mentioned you had contacts? Now would be the time to contact them. Give me their letters tomorrow morning and I'll swing by the postal service.”

“Of course.” This was the longest conversation they'd had in days. He wanted to say something, anything, about what had happened. “Hermione...” he started, but she held up a hand.

“Don't.” Her voice was sharp, but her eyes soft. “I can't just yet.”

Severus nodded and tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest as she left the kitchen.

–

The next morning Severus readied messages for a few Potioneers and the like around the world whom he'd got to know at conferences. He had no idea if anyone would bother to reply, but there wasn't anything he could do about that.

Once Hermione – his treacherous mind had started thinking of her like that again – had left for Hogwarts, Severus went outside to the garden. It was an unseasonably sunny day for early March, and he enjoyed the subtle warmth of the early spring sun on his skin. He needed to tackle the gardening beds, which were atrocious. By the look of them, no one had done anything with them for at least a year. Which he supposed was true, since he'd found several gardening tools that seemed to have belonged to Mrs Granger.

Rolling up the sleeves of his jumper – which was the one he'd got from Molly Weasley but transfigured to be a solid charcoal grey – he dug into the first garden bed. There was something very soothing about gardening the Muggle way. He and Pomona used to do the spring gardening together at Hogwarts; he had been fortunate enough to have a section of Greenhouse Nine to grow potions ingredients. Not the ones used in Potions class – he wouldn't trust his dunderhead students with anything that valuable – but for his private lab and his research.

He took a tea break mid-morning, sitting cross-legged against the side of the house and listening to the birds singing their joy for spring, and then got back to the planting. It felt like only minutes until the side-door to the garage opened, and Hermione stepped out. He took a moment to watch her; her posture seemed tense, and her bushy hair obscured her face. She started towards the house but then stopped and looked in his direction. He couldn't see her eyes from the distance, but her posture seemed to relax.

Severus rose from his kneeling position when she approached, and he wandlessly spelled away the dirt from his hands. “Hello.”

She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and the corners of her mouth twitched. “Hi.”

He gestured to her bag. “Did you find anything useful?”

Hermione let out a frustrated huff. “Barely. I only found a few texts about magical cores and most of them dealt with magical depletion, not suppression. There wasn't any in the Restricted Section either. I think I'll head to the Ministry tomorrow; hopefully their archives are more helpful. If they aren't, I'm thinking of asking Harry if he can get me any records from Azkaban that may be useful.”

“But that's tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then you can help me with the gardening.”

Her brows raised, and she let out a short laugh. “Gardening? You're serious?”

Smirking, he knelt by the gardening beds again. “Does the Gryffindor Princess not want to get her hands dirty? How disappointing.”

“Gryffindor Princess, my arse,” she huffed, put her bag down and knelt on the other side of the gardening bed. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

They gardened in silence for a while, only broken by Severus occasionally giving instructions or Hermione asking about the properties of the seeds they were planting. His mind kept going back to earlier that week, to the taste of her mouth and the hurt in her eyes.

When they were almost finished, Severus summoned as much bravado as he could muster. “I wish to apologise for my actions earlier this week.”

Her body tensed, but he continued.

“I realise that I left you with the impression that your feelings aren't reciprocated.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. She had gone deathly still. “I can assure you that is not the case.”

“Oh.”

He continued putting the valerian seedsinto the soil, finding it easier to talk to the plant than Hermione. “I'm not going to make excuses for my behaviour; I believed I was doing both of us a favour by shutting the conversation down. I was mistaken, and for that I am sorry.” His fingers dug deep into the soil.

“Severus, please look at me.”

Obliging – because how could he not? – he found her face raw and open.

“What are you saying?”

“I have not been my own man for twenty years, Hermione. Even now, I've merely switched from one master to another. It's not a gripe at you,” he continued when she opened her mouth to interject, “but at the situation we're in. Regardless of our feelings in the matter, you are my jailer and I am your detainee.” Unbidden, his hand reached for hers where it was perched on the side of the gardening bed. Her skin was soft and slightly cool to the touch. “I don't know where my place is in this world, what I'll do or where I'll go when I am free to do so, but I need to find that out before I can make you any promises. You are too important to me to risk it.”

Hermione turned her hand so their palms met, then entwined their fingers. “You are important to me, too.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your lovely comments! I hope you're staying safe and sane.

_Chapter Nineteen_

Severus was on the sofa when Hermione stepped out of the Floo. She had spent the past few hours down in the dusty archives at the Ministry, trying to find anything that would help them with the Suppression Cuff.

“Good morning,” Hermione said, voice a tad too high. She couldn't remember the last time her heart had been as full as it had been when Severus touched her hand in her parents garden and told her she was important to him, and she still felt jittery.

“It's hardly morning anymore.”

Hermione chuckled and sat in the armchair, putting her beaded bag on the table. “True. Going through the archives took longer than I thought; that place is huge!”

“I vaguely recall that,” Severus said, putting down his book. “Was your outing successful?”

Hermione stifled a yawn. “Somewhat. I need the loo and some tea before we tackle this, though.”

“I'll make space in the dining-room.”

As she was washing her hands, Hermione couldn't stop thinking of what it felt like when they finally had kissed. It had felt like drowning and coming up for air at the same time; his lips soft and his tongue warm against hers. His faint stubble scratching against her chin had been the only thing keeping her from thinking it was a dream. Sweet Circe, she needed to get a hold of herself.

When she returned downstairs, Severus had already set up in the dining room, complete with two mugs of tea and a plate of chocolate hobnobs. Taking the free chair next to him, Hermione opened her beaded bag and started pulling out her notes.

“I may have gone a bit overboard,” she said sheepishly as she pulled out the fifteenth scroll of parchment. “I copied over everything mentioning magical cores, just to be on the safe side.”

He snorted. “I shouldn't be surprised; your essays were always abysmally long.”

“I did so much research and you still never gave me an O,” she teased, bumping his shoulder lightly.

Severus' eyebrow rose. “You didn't earn an O.”

Something in his tone made her cheeks flush; she got the feeling they were talking about a different kind of O now. She cleared her throat and shifted through the pile of parchment. “Right, should we just grab half a pile each and see what we find?”

Their fingers touched when he grabbed the proffered parchment, and her breath hitched. Time seemed to stretch as their eyes locked. She needed to pull back. They decided not now. Why wasn't she pulling back?

Severus looked away first, letting his hair obscure his face.

Hermione winced. “Sorry.”

“Don't be.” He didn't look at her, but his tone was warm.

Grabbing a biscuit, Hermione opened her first parchment. Soon the only sounds were the turning of pages. She was halfway through her pile when the silence was broken.

“I think I've found something.”

Putting down her parchment, Hermione rolled her neck. “Hmm?”

“Look at this.”

She leant close to read the parchment, and her arm touched his. Taking a deep breath, she read aloud. “The magical core of a witch or wizard has not been subjected to many studies, and it is unclear if the core is present at birth and the failure of development of the core is what produces Squibs. What is known about magical cores is the danger of magical depletion, in which the magical core is temporarily weakened due to magical trauma or prolonged use of powerful spells and charms. There is no record of any witch or wizard draining their magic to the point of irrevocable damage or death.” Hermione leant back in her seat. “I'm not sure how much I trust that no record thing. “And not only because the book this came from was published in 1823.”

Severus snorted. “A wise choice. We'll have to find more sources, reliable ones.”

“We aren't taught magical depletion at Hogwarts, are we?”

“No, and I'm not sure why; Magical depletion is not to be taken lightly. You suffered from it after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries. Idiot children the lot of you.”

She was taken aback. “You were in the Hospital Wing during that?”

His eyebrow raised. “Did you think Poppy did the counter-spell to Dolohov's curse?”

Her hand rose to touch the scar on her chest, hidden by a glamour and a layer of clothing. If he healed her scar, it meant... She averted her eyes. Oh. Knowing that he'd seen her mangled torso – and her breasts – filled her with shame. How could he want her, having seen that?

“I didn't realise that. You weren't there when I woke up.”

“I was called away.”

She looked back at Severus.“To him?”

He nodded. “He was most displeased that his plan to retrieve the prophecy failed. I don't think any of us left that meeting without twitching.”

She flinched. “He tortured you? Why?”

Shrugging, Severus tucked his hair behind his ear. “He didn't need a reason. He was displeased. That was reason enough.”

“I wish I could have helped you when I was still your student.”

He smirked. “You were too busy setting fire to my robes and stealing from my stores.” He laughed at her shocked face, and the sound warmed her body from the inside and out.

–

“I'm glad you owled,” Ron said around a mouthful of curry. “I was starting to think you'd forgotten us.”

“It's been a busy week.” Hermione stuffed a piece of naan in her mouth to avoid having to answer any questions about said week. She couldn't well say that it had consisted of her and Severus arguing, kissing, her avoiding him and then both of them admitting that they had feelings for each other. That would _not_ go over well.

The sounds of a rainstorm and the crackling of the fire filled the drawing-room at Grimmauld Place. Hermione had been to her last therapy session earlier that day, and she had told Dr Larch everything that had happened the previous week with Severus and the research they were doing about the Suppression Cuff.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something important,” Hermione said once they'd finished eating and were just lounging and doing nothing.

“As long as I don't have to move,” Ron groaned, not lifting his head from the back of the sofa.

Harry snorted. “You shouldn't have eaten that last naan, mate.”

“Now you tell me.”

“We told you before you ate it too.” Hermione, who sat on the floor leaning against the sofa, crossed her legs and put her hands in her lap. “Now listen to me, this is important.”

“Is everything okay?” Harry said, sounding worried.

“Yeah, just...” Hermione let out a huff, unsure of where to begin. “Do you remember back in January when Severus was in St Mungo's?”

She was met with silence. Looking back at Ron, she saw a strange look on his face. She faced Harry, who was looking similarly bewildered.

“What?”

“You call him Severus?”

Bugger. “I do. Is there something wrong with that?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, grow up, Ron. We're friends, there's no reason I shouldn't call him by his name.”

Ron shook his head. “I don't care, it's still weird. Does he call you Hermione?”

She needed to change the direction of this conversation. “I'm trying to say something important, please pay attention.” Her voice came out sharper than she intended.

Harry winced. “Sorry, Hermione.”

“Yeah, sorry 'Mione.”

“That's all right. Anyway. Do you remember that it was the Suppression Cuff that was making him ill? Because it stopped his magic from being able to heal the wounds from Nagini's venom?” At their nods, she continued. “Long story short, we believe that the Suppression Cuff is responsible for at least two deaths in Azkaban. Our bodies can't handle having our magic suppressed like that; it eventually turns fatal. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have already died, and there is no other explanation for their deaths other than the cuff. We have to do something.”

For a moment there was only the sound of the rain and the crackling from the fire. Then Ron spoke. “Why?”

Hermione blinked. “Didn't you hear me? People are dying!”

Ron sat up, his face serious. “Yeah, bad people. Death Eaters. I'm sorry if I don't care about the Malfoys, and I'm honestly surprised that you do.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but she couldn't find any words.

“It's terrible what happened to Snape,” Harry said, “but I'm with Ron on this one. They've been found guilty and need to pay for their crimes.”

“Not with their lives! Are you honestly telling me that you are all right with people dying needlessly? It's barbaric. Honestly, Harry, I thought you'd be a bit more open-minded.”

“Oi!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don't Oi me, Ron. If you both think there's nothing wrong with people _dying_ when it could be prevented, when it's something doing it to them, then neither of you are the person I thought you were.” She took a deep breath. “I know it may feel odd because it's the Malfoys. Merlin knows I've no love for them, either. But it doesn't matter what my personal opinion on them is. They are dead and they shouldn't be. They were sentenced to serve time, not to die. Being a prisoner doesn't strip you of your human rights.”

Hermione stared them down, daring them to contradict her.

Eventually, Ron broke the silence. “You're right. If that's really what's happening, if the cuff is killing people, we have to do something. It's hard to feel sympathetic towards the Malfoys, because they're fucking mental, but it doesn't make what happened to them okay. And if we do nothing, we're no better than they were.”

Harry nodded. “How can we help?”

Hermione's throat got tight. Her wonderful, wonderful boys. “Right now we're trying to find proof that the cuffs are the reason people are dying, but information is surprisingly hard to come by. If you can, any information from Azkaban would be massively helpful: incident reports, medical records, death certificates. Anything you can get me, really. But don't take any unnecessary risks. I don't want you to get in trouble.”

Harry grinned. “Risks? Us?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, please try to be careful, at least.”

“You know,” Ron said. “It's been a while since we brought out your Invisibility Cloak.”

–

Hermione's eyes drifted up from her book.

The sound of Severus preparing ingredients, the low timbre of his voice – for he tended to mumble to himself as he worked – and the gentle puttering of potions was soothing. She had taken to doing most of her reading in the potions lab, and while he had raised an eyebrow the first time she'd entered with _Quintessence: A Quest_ tucked underneath her arm, he rarely protested.

Severus looked amused. “May I inquire why you are staring at me?”

Chuckling, she tucked a curl behind her ear. “Do you only brew using your modifications?”

“No,” he said, adjusting the flame beneath the cauldron, “but mostly. They are superior, after all.”

Turning more towards him, she leant her chin on her hand. “Do you have patents for any of them?”

His eyebrow raised. “I did, but they're probably expired. Why?”

“Just making small talk.”

Snorting, he turned back to the cauldron. “You're an abominable liar, Hermione.”

Her stomach swooped at the way his voice curled around her name. “Have you thought about what you want to do after your sentence is finished? Maybe go back to Hogwarts, teach? I'm sure Professor McGonagall would be thrilled to have you back.”

“No.” Dousing the flame, Severus leant his hip against the workbench. “I never wanted to teach. I only applied for the position to spy for the Dark Lord, and I stayed because I was under Dumbledore's protection. I wasn't any good at it, either.”

“That depends on how you define what a good teacher is. You were an effective teacher, and a subject as volatile as Potions needs to be taught with a strong hand.”

He shrugged. “You're not wrong. Still, I would not go back to teaching for all the galleons in the world.”

Hermione tilted her head. “You could brew, do what you're doing now. Open an apothecary.”

“No one would buy from me.”

“I disagree.” She smiled, sitting up properly. “There is no match for your brilliance in potions, Severus. You would have customers, I'm sure of it.”

He harrumphed. “I didn't think you were such an optimist.”

“I'm not, but I have faith in you.”

He couldn't quite hide his surprise, and Hermione realised with a pang that it was likely a long time since someone had told him that and meant it. She turned back to her book, hopefully hiding her flushing cheeks. The soothing sounds of ingredients preparation started up again.

At length, Severus spoke. “When you get the opportunity, would you mind visiting the Office of Potions Patent Applications?” He was watching her, a look she couldn't decipher on his face.

She smiled. “Of course.”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching up, and went back to brewing. Hermione found it difficult to concentrate on her book.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments!

_Chapter Twenty_

On Tuesday after their DADA class, Hermione told Ginny everything that had transpired between her and Severus over the past week. They were seated in their favourite spot in the library under two layers of silencing charms. The absolute last thing Hermione needed was to be overheard.

“Wow,” Ginny said. “Severus Snape has feelings for you?”

Hermione nodded, failing to keep herself from smiling.

“It's not that surprising, now that I think of it.” Ginny toyed with the feathery end on her quill. “I suppose you're very similar, though I don't really know him. The real him, I mean.”

“After being a spy for so long, I'm not sure _he_ knows that,” Hermione confessed. “I'm not sure what will happen, but we're taking it one day at a time.”

“Well, as long as you're happy, I'm happy.”

“Thanks.” Hermione sighed. “I'll be happy if I can get this essay finished today. I've been having a hard time concentrating lately.”

Ginny grinned. “I wonder why.”

With a chuckle and a head-shake, Hermione stood. “You are impossible. I'll be right back.”

The library was quiet; the weather was still unseasonably warm and most of the students took advantage of that by spending time outdoors. The spring sun shone through the stained glass windows, making patterns on everything it touched. Walking through the stacks filled her with a calmness she rarely felt at Hogwarts these days. She pulled out _Necromancy: The Dos and Don'ts of Raising the Dead_ from the bookcase with a triumphant smile.

Turning to go back to the table, she found her path blocked by a thin boy with sandy hair and a green tie.

Dread pooled in her stomach when she realised she'd left her wand at the table. Raising her chin, she put on a brave air. “Nott.”

“Granger.”

She brought the book up against her chest. Although she barely remembered Theo Nott from her previous years at Hogwarts, she knew that his father had been among the Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries, and that was enough to make her wary. “What do you want?”

“Is it true you're Snape's minder?”

Hermione wasn't sure what she expected him to say, but it wasn't that. “I... How do you know that?”

Nott shrugged. “I have my sources.”

Ah. Malfoy, then. It made sense that they would keep in touch; Nott was the only Slytherin from her year who had returned to Hogwarts for his 8th year.

“What's it to you if I am?”

Circe, would she have to get stronger wards? The last thing they needed was a visit from Death Eaters bent on getting revenge.

Nott looked hesitant. “Would you tell him I'm glad he survived?”

Her eyebrows rose. Before she had a chance to respond, Nott moved away and she heard him leave the library. Slightly bewildered, she returned to the table, where Luna had joined them.

“I'm glad you're feeling better,” Luna said, fastening her blue eyes on Hermione as she approached. “The Wrackspurts are completely gone,” she added.

“Oh. Well, thanks.” Hermione smiled slightly.

“Last week they were all over you, so I knew something must be wrong.”

Ginny snorted, and Hermione shot her a look. “I am better now, thanks. Where's Neville? I thought he was meeting us too.”

Luna smiled. “He's working on a project with Professor Sprout, but he says hi.”

A while later Luna went to the toilet, and Hermione spoke. “You haven't told Luna about...well, anything I've told you about me and Severus?”

“Of course I haven't!!” Ginny scoffed. “Honestly, Hermione. I wouldn't do that. Not unless you tell me it's okay.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “I'm not ready for people to know, and I'm sure he wouldn't want that either.”

“I get that,” Ginny said. “It took me months to admit to myself, let alone tell anyone else, about my feelings for Luna. Your secret is safe with me.”

Hermione smiled. “Thanks, Gin. I have to go, I've got some errands to run.”

She packed her things, and as she slung the strap to her bag over her shoulder, Ginny said, “Tell Snape I said hi.”

Chuckling, Hermione rolled her eyes. “I'll see you on Friday.”

As she reached the Entrance Hall, she saw Professor McGonagall coming up from the dungeons, a frown marring her face.

“Hello, Professor,” Hermione said, stopping by the foot of the staircase.

“Hermione, hello,” Professor McGonagall said, frown lifting slightly. “I haven't seen you in a while. How are you? How is Severus? Poppy is most happy to have his potions back in stock.”

Hermione smiled. “I'll be sure to tell him that. We're fine, just keeping busy.”

The Headmistress looked slightly guilty. “I've been meaning to owl Severus, but things have been busy. The Board of Governors are being right berks, if you'll pardon me for being so blunt. Take my advice, and never become a Headmistress.”

She chuckled. “I'll keep that in mind. I was actually on my way out, so...”

“Of course! Don't let me keep you.”

The sun was warm on Hermione's face as she walked down to Hogsmeade. Ever since she was a child she had loved spring; seeing the world come to life after months of being dormant, skeleton-like trees sprouting buds and the world turning green.

The sun was warm on Hermione's face as she walked down to Hogsmeade. Ever since she was a child she had loved spring; seeing the world come to life after months of being dormant, skeleton-like trees sprouting buds and the world turning green. While she was more than ready to head home, she had made Severus a promise. She used the Floo in the Three Broomsticks to get to the Ministry, where she checked her wand at the security desk and checked the information board to see which level she was going to.

What she found was fascinating.

Severus held almost twenty patents, most of them for different types of medicinal potions. All of them had expired, and she couldn't find anything filed after her third year at Hogwarts. If he decided to renew those patents, he could make himself a very lucrative business. She made copies of the existing patents and grabbed several renewal forms before leaving.

The atrium was fairly busy, and she had to queue for a vacant Floo. After a whoosh through soot, Hermione arrived to an empty sitting room. It was almost four o'clock, which meant Severus would be finishing up for the day soon. She headed upstairs to change, and as she came back down she heard him enter the house. Stopping near the bottom of the stairs, Hermione watched him remove his heavy cloak and boots. He was still thin – although he had lost that sickly look of malnourishment – but there was a wiry strength to his upper body that was apparent even through his white shirt. Her gaze lingered on his hands, and she bit her lower lip. Piano hands, her mother would have called them. His fingers were fine-boned; long and tapered with small scars and stains from potion-making. She knew how those fingers felt against her face, but how would they feel against her skin?

“Hermione?”

Sweet Circe. If only the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“Hello,” she said, voice too high pitched for her liking. She was sure her face was beet red. “Ginny says hi.”

His eyebrow quirked up. “Tell Ginevra I return the sentiment.”

Clearing her throat, Hermione stepped off the last step. “I've got a copy of your patens and the forms to renew them if you want to take a look at them?”

“Dinner first; I'm bloody starving.”

After a quick dinner, they went to the sitting room with mugs of tea, and Hermione spread out the papers from the Potions Patent Office on the coffee table. Severus took the place next to her on the sofa. She suddenly remembered the odd encounter at the library.

“I, uh, have a message for you.”

Severus' brow furrowed as she told him about Theo's message.

Hermione shifted, and her new position made their thighs press together. “Do you think he was sincere?”

He rubbed his neck. “I cannot be sure, but it's not unlikely. Although Theo was brought up by his father on the Pure-blood Ideology, he always seemed detached from the other Pure-bloods at Hogwarts.” He rested his arm on the back of the sofa. His fingers were mere centimetres from her shoulder. “He played his part well last year but kept mostly to himself. I wouldn't be surprised if he only claimed he believed in the Dark Lord to save his own skin.”

“Do you think things will be different for Slytherin in the future? That it will ever stop being associated with immorality?”

He shrugged. “I cannot say. But as long as people think of all Slytherins as evil, things will not change. If a child is constantly that told he's less, that he's evil, it won't take him long to start to believe it.”

Hermione nodded. “Prejudice breeds prejudice. That's all rubbish, anyway, about House affinity and being good or evil. Peter Pettigrew was by all accounts a despicable human being, and he was in Gryffindor.”

Severus' face darkened slightly. “He was. I wish I could have killed him myself, but at least he got what he deserved.”

“I used to wonder,” Hermione said slowly, “what would have happened if Pettigrew hadn't escaped that night in the Shrieking Shack. Would You-Know-Who have been able to come back?”

“He would have, eventually. It might have taken longer, but he had plenty of loyal followers who would have found a way.”

She chuckled dryly. “I suppose. Just some wishful thinking.”

His fingers curled around her shoulder. “It's a dangerous game to play – wishful thinking.”

She covered his hand with her own.“It is. I prefer the reality we have, even with all that's happened.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “As do I.”

Circe, she wanted to kiss him. Clearing her throat, Hermione squeezed his hand and pulled back slightly. “Let's look at those patents, shall we?”

–

It was jarring when Severus realised there were less than two months left of his sentence. What had seemed like a monumental time stretching out before him had now almost come to an end. He ran his hands through his hair to smooth it down and sighed. It was getting too long; soon he'd have to tie it back when brewing. Maybe he could ask Hermione... he shook his head. That probably wasn't the best idea. The effect she had on him was borderline embarrassing, and he was fighting with himself to keep his word to wait until his sentence was up.

Severus stepped out on the landing, mentally going through which potions needed to be finished that day for the hospital wing, then halted. The shower was running. Like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to the bathroom door. There he stood, the sound of water hitting tiles loud in his ears. He mustn't imagine Hermione standing bare underneath the spray; her hair darkened and her skin flushed by the heat of the water. How far did her hair reach when it was straight, he wondered. His cock tightened in his trousers. Merlin, he needed to step away. It took all his willpower to back away and go downstairs.

As he was making tea, the Floo whooshed. He entered the sitting room and froze.

“Potter,” he said through clenched teeth.

To his delight, Potter squirmed and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Eh, good morning. Sir.”

“What do you want?”

Potter motioned to the bag slung over his shoulder. “I've got the information Hermione asked for. About the Suppression Cuffs?”

Severus inhaled deeply through his nose. It would be poor form to hex the boy; Hermione was very fond of him. “Wait here.”

He went back upstairs, where the shower was still running. What was she trying to do, turn herself into a prune? Bracing himself, he knocked briskly on the door. A few seconds went by, and he knocked again – harder this time. The shower turned off, and the shower curtain rustled. He moved back slightly as the door opened. Hermione was dripping wet, a towel wrapped around her body and skin tinged pink.

It was very difficult to keep his eyes on her face and not the drops of water running from her jaw and down into her cleavage. “Potter is waiting downstairs,” he said flatly. “He's got information about the cuff.”

“Oh.” Hermione clutched her towel tighter. “Could you entertain him for a few minutes?” She smiled. “Or, at least try not to hex him. I'll hurry.”

He nodded shortly. “See that you do.”

In the sitting room, Potter had claimed the armchair and was looking very uncomfortable.

Severus sat on the far side of the sofa. “Hermione will be down in a minute.”

Potter's brows raised, but he said nothing.

The seconds seemed to drag by, and it was a relief when there were footsteps on the stairs. Hermione rushed into the sitting room, hair damp and flying around her face.

“Hi, Harry. Sorry, I was in the shower.” She leant down to peck Potter's cheek, and Severus had to look away.

Potter cleared his throat. “No worries. I should have owled, but I figured you would want these sooner rather than later.”

Hermione sat next to Severus and gave him a nervous smile. “I appreciate it, truly. Did you have any trouble getting the information?”

Potter grinned. “Nah. There are copies of all reports in the file room of the MLE; all it took was the cloak, a diversion and some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. No one suspected a thing.”

Severus snorted.

Potter reached into his bag and pulled out several thick folders. “I copied pretty much everything, so I hope there's something useful in there. Oh, and please burn them when you're through. Just in case.”

Severus took the folders and did a quick run over for any tracking spells or anything else that would implicate any of them. Satisfied that they were unmarked, he put them on the table.

“Do you have time to stay for tea?”

Potter looked from Hermione to Severus, then back before shaking his head. “I can't stay.” He stood. “I already claimed an emergency to be able to give you these today.”

“I appreciate it,” Hermione said, rising to her feet.

“I suppose you're not completely incompetent, Potter.”

Potter had the audacity to chuckle. “That's practically a compliment coming from you, sir.” He picked up his bag. “I'll talk to you later,” he said to Hermione and stepped into the Floo.

The sitting-room was once again – thankfully – sans Potter.

Severus eyed the folders on the table. “We should get started with these, but I have potions to brew for Poppy that can't wait.”

“Anything I can help with? You might get finished a bit faster.”

His eyebrow raised, and she rolled her eyes.

“Don't look at me like that. I'm good at Potions, and as you were fond of pointing out when I was still your student, I am excellent at following directions.”

Severus snorted, and his fingers itched to touch her smiling face. Instead, he shoved them into the pockets of his trousers. “Insufferable know-it-all. Let's go then.”

He shouldn't have been surprised that she listened to his instructions with bated breath; she was studious to a fault, after all. They brewed mostly in silence, the sort of comfortable one he had come to associate with her. How long had it been since he'd been able to let his guard down like this? Had he ever?

As Hermione had estimated, it took them significantly less time to finish the brewing than if he'd done it by himself, and when he put the last bottle of Pimple Potion in the crate it had just gone two o'clock.

He sent the crate through the Floo while Hermione set up in the dining room. The folders Potter had brought were spread out on the table, and she was watching them nervously.

“What do you think we'll find?”

Sitting, Severus sighed. “I'm not sure. Not anything particularly nice, I'd wager.”

“I can't decide if I want to find anything in them or not.” Hermione reached for the closest folder. “But there's only one way to find out.”


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter Twenty-One_

The further Hermione read into the reports Harry had given them, the more nauseated she became.

Seven death certificates had been written since last June with the cause of death listed as _undetermined_. The medical records for the deceased prisoners all said the same thing: obvious signs of weakening and weight-loss with no discernible cause. Other than those seven, a handful of other death certificates looked suspicious with causes of death listed as illnesses such as pneumonia, which usually wouldn't kill an otherwise healthy witch or wizard.

“At least seven people,” Severus said slowly, leaning over to read the papers properly. “I don't recognise their names, other than Narcissa and Lucius. And-”

“Dolohov,” Hermione finished, mouth dry. She hadn't forgotten her run-ins with the Death Eater, first at the Department of Mysteries and later in a café in London after Bill and Fleur's wedding. She exhaled shakily. Now more than ever she understood what Ron had said about it being hard finding sympathy for them. If there was anyone she had wished death upon plenty over the years, it was Dolohov. The scar on her chest throbbed.

“Hermione? Are you all right?”

She met Severus' worried gaze. “I'm fine. This is proof, isn't it? What we suspected is true; the Suppression Cuff is killing people."

Severus sighed. “It would appear so. We should compile everything we find into a safe document, then burn these.”

Hermione agreed.

It took them three hours to go through the paperwork and condense it down into something more manageable, and by the time they had copied over the last medical report, Hermione's head was splitting. She massaged her temples with a groan.

“Do you need a headache potion?”

Hermione smiled wanly. “I just need to rest. I'm going to lie down for a bit if that's all right?”

Severus nodded. “Of course. I'll take care of the documents.”

Hermione's body felt heavy as she climbed the stairs, and she fell face-first onto her bed with a groan. She glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside table. It was just past noon. Sweet Circe, she was exhausted. Everything they'd found in the documents... She couldn't think of that right now. Changing into her pyjamas – which was odd to do in the middle of the day – she crawled underneath the cover and closed her eyes.

What a strange day this had been this far.

She had practically wanted to sink through the floor when Severus interrupted her in the shower that morning. Before he had knocked on the door, her hand had been buried between her thighs and she had been on the verge of orgasm, thinking about him. She had been painfully aware the only thing separating her naked body from his view was a thin towel.

Hermione shifted onto her back. What if Harry hadn't been there waiting? And Severus had knocked on the door for a different reason? She imagined his onyx gaze boring into hers, hands reaching for her towel. How would he look at her exposed body? Hungrily? With approval? Her core clenched. Her fingers slid over her waist, into her knickers. She circled her clit lightly before dipping down to her entrance. She was already wet, and she spread the wetness over her clit before moving her hand faster. She imagined it was his hand, his – sweet Circe – tongue. She could almost feel his breath in her ear, his lips on her skin. Her other hand crept underneath her top, touching her breast and hard nipple. She was getting close. Her thighs tensed and her back arched. Biting her lower lip hard, she tipped over the edge.

Breathing heavily, she lay still for a moment as she came down from her high. Casting a wandless cleaning spell, she rolled over to her side. Her heart was still racing, but it didn't take her long to fall asleep

When she awoke from a dream of strong hands and a silky voice, it was with the disorientation sleeping during the day always left her with. Yawning, she re-dressed and stopped by the bathroom to brush her teeth and splash water on her face before going downstairs. Severus wasn't in the house, but she found a cup of tea and sandwiches under a stasis charm in the kitchen. She ate her lunch quickly before cleaning up and donning her coat.

Severus didn't acknowledge her when she entered the lab, and she waited patiently for him to finish adding ingredients to the cauldron. She knew better than to interrupt him when he brewed.

“Are you feeling better?” he said at length, giving the potion another stir before turning to her.

“I am, thank you.”

She would _not_ think about bringing herself to climax thinking about him. She pressed her thighs together. Had he touched himself while thinking about her? Sweet Circe...

“I've received replies from the Potioneers I sent word to; they arrived shortly after you went upstairs.”

Her brow raised. “From all of them?”

Severus chuckled. “No. Only two bothered to reply, and neither had anything useful to say.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Oh. Well, I suppose what we got from Harry is enough.”

“By a long shot,” Severus said, eyes flickering over to the potion for a second. “I compiled the rest while you were sleeping; we have enough information about the Suppression Cuff to go to Kingsley.”

“That's great, but I don't think he'll listen to us.” Hermione sighed. “I know he said to contact him if we had any proof, but I don't trust that. His priorities are different now.”

Severus tilted his head. “You're close with Miss Lovegood, correct?”

Her brow furrowed. What did Luna have to do with... Oh. Of course. “We send our findings to the Quibbler.”

“Correct. It has enough of a following that Kingsley can't ignore it.”

Hermione nodded. “That is brilliant. I'll ask Luna tomorrow.”

Severus stirred the potion and added what looked like sliced lacewing flies. “Are you revising today or do you have time to assist with brewing?”

Her smile was wide. “You didn't think me completely useless?”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Not completely, no.”

Sliding off the stool, Hermione gathered her hair into a ponytail. “Show me where you want me.”

She felt a burst of feminine pride when his eye twitched.

–

Hermione Apparated earlier than usual to Hogwarts the next day, hoping to catch Luna between breakfast and the first class of the day. The Great Hall was still full of students when she entered, looking around for either Ginny or Luna.

“Hermione, over here!” Ginny waved from half-way down the Gryffindor table. “You're early,” she said when Hermione reached them. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Hermione said, then turned to the blonde by Ginny's side. “Luna, have you got a minute?”

Luna smiled. “Of course.”

They found an empty classroom on the first floor, and Hermione cast a silencing charm.

“This must be serious,” Luna said as she hopped onto a desk. “What can I do to help?”

“I was wondering if I could get an article published in the Quibbler. It comes out next week, right?”

Her blonde eyebrows rose. “It does. I'll have to ask my dad, but I'm sure it won't be an issue. What is it you want to publish?”

Opening her beaded bag, she summed the binder Severus had put all the information, unshrunk it and handed it to Luna. “This is proof that the Suppression Cuff the inmates in Azkaban and on house-arrest wear is dangerous. It's already caused the death of at least seven people.”

Luna frowned as she flipped through the binder. “This is serious. I'll owl my dad, I'm sure he can make room for this.”

Hermione sighed in relief. “Thank you, Luna. I really appreciate it. Send me an owl when you've heard back from your dad?”

“Of course.”

They left for their respective classes; Hermione to the dungeons for Potions and Luna outside to Care of Magical Creatures.

“What was that about, with Luna?” Ginny asked when Hermione joined her outside the Potions classroom.

“I'll tell you later,” Hermione said as the door to the classroom opened.

Potions proved as uninspiring as usual with Slughorn not even doing the bare minimum anymore. Only twelve NEWT students were in the class, and they had started depending on each other rather than Slughorn if they needed help. Slughorn didn't so much as raise an eyebrow when the students walked from one desk to another; mostly staring into the wall or down at his desk.

Hermione put the sliced Armadillo brains in the cauldron, stirred it a dozen times clockwise and then adjusted the flame. It needed to simmer for five minutes before it was ready to be bottled.

Ginny adjusted the flame underneath her cauldron. “Now tell me what you and Luna spoke about.”

Casting her second silencing charm for the day – she had fully grasped the wandless spell by now – Hermione told Ginny everything.

Ginny's mouth dropped open in shock. “Are you serious?” she said when Hermione had finished speaking.

Hermione nodded and started bottling her now completed potion. “It's horrifying. Something needs to be done. Hopefully getting it into the Quibbler will help.”

“If you need me to help with anything, just let me know.”

Cancelling the silencing spell, Hermione labelled her vial before going to Slughorn's desk to hand it in. He said nothing and didn't even look at her, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“How are things otherwise? At home?” Ginny asked with a suggestive grin as they gathered their things.

Hermione chuckled and looked away. “It's fine.”

“More than fine, I hope!” Ginny followed Hermione out of the dungeons. She lowered her voice. “I know you decided to wait, but... it's got to be tempting.”

Biting her lip, Hermione stifled a smile.

–

Severus was in the garden when she arrived back home, tending to the beds by the greenhouse.Watching his hands was mesmerising, regardless if they were chopping potions ingredients or planting seeds in the earth.

“Well?” he asked, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand when she approached. “What did Miss Lovegood say?”

“Luna said she'll owl her dad today about adding the article, and it sounded as though she thought it was important. She promised to keep me updated.”

“So now we wait?”

“Now we wait.”

He bent back down over the bed. “How was Potions? Is Slughorn still not teaching you properly?”

Hermione shook her head. “He barely speaks now, just points to the board where he puts what page we're working from. I'm going to speak with McGonagall about him next week. His behaviour is completely unacceptable! At least _we_ know what we're doing, I can't even imagine how the first years are faring.”

Before Severus had a chance to answer, the heavens opened and covered them both in torrential rain. Hermione shrieked and ran to the closest enclosed space – which happened to be the greenhouse – with Severus hot on her tail.

Once inside, Hermione failed to stifle a giggle.

Severus resembled a drowned rat; his hair plastered against his face and his clothes dripping with water.

He raised his brow at her. “You haven't forgotten you're a witch, have you?” He cast a wandless drying spell on himself and before she could stop him, he cast one on her too.

She felt her hair shrink and poof out as it magically dried. This was why she never used drying charms on her hair; she knew she looked as though she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. She narrowed her eyes at Severus, who was stifling a laugh.

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Don't you dare laugh,” she said before turning her back and searching through her pockets for a hair tie.

She heard him chuckle, then move towards her. “I wasn't, I assure you.” He stopped behind her, so close she felt the warmth from his body. “It looks fine.”

Giving up on finding a hair tie, she tried patting down her hair and turned to face him. He stood very close, and she swallowed hard. “You're a terrible liar.”

Tilting his head, he gave a half-smile. “I am an excellent liar. But I'm not lying.”

The space seemed to close around them, and she found it difficult to look away from his eyes. This was dangerous. Reaching up, she tucked his hair behind his ear, her fingers lingering against his stubbled cheek before she let her arm fall. Hoping she wasn't overstepping the unspoken boundaries they'd set, Hermione moved forwards and wrapped her arms around his torso. His body was warm and solid against her own and he smelt of herbs. He exhaled – or was that a sigh? – and relaxed against her. One hand curled around her waist, stopping to rest at the small of her back, and the other rested against her poofy curls.

Hermione closed her eyes, taking in the feel and smell of him. The rain continued to slam against the greenhouse, but all she could hear was his heartbeat in her ear. Who would have thought when she showed him around the house that first day, that this would happen?

“This is nice,” she said before she could stop herself.

Severus spoke, but his words were lost in the rumbling of his chest against her ear.

Hermione leant back so she could see his face. “What was that?”

His eyes were serious as he regarded her. The hand on the back of her head came around and stroked her cheek, pushing bushy curls away from her face. “You are so lovely.”

Smiling, she tightened her arms, splaying her hands fully against his back. “So are you, Severus.” Heart pounding, she stretched up. He met her halfway and their lips met in the softest kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she exhaled against his mouth. Severus kissed her twice more, then rested his forehead against hers.

His hand at her back fisted into her jumper. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Hermione had no answer to give, so they stayed silent; locked in the embrace as the rain continued to pound against the glass. It was the most content she had felt in months.


	22. Chapter 22

_Chapter Twenty-Two_

The following week felt like waiting for a storm to break.

An owl had arrived at the house on Monday morning bearing news from Xenophilius Lovegood: their article on the Suppression Cuffs would be published in _The Quibbler_ that coming Friday. Hermione had gripped his arm tightly, brown eyes looking at him with both excitement and trepidation.

Severus didn't know how to feel about how reliant he had become on her. It was his biggest reservation in admitting his feelings, and if he'd thought it would get easier once everything was out in the open, he'd been sorely mistaken. It was much harder keeping his distance knowing she felt the same. Knowing she wanted him despite the fading Dark Mark on his forearm, despite him being a dour misanthrope who had nothing to offer her. Who was he to argue with the brightest witch of her generation?

On Friday morning, an owl interrupted their breakfast by knocking on the window in the dining room.

“It's from Mr Lovegood,” Hermione said, letting the bird in. She gave the owl a piece of toast before removing the rolled-up magazine from its leg. The owl hooted and flew back out the window. A note fell out of the magazine when she laid it flat on the table.

“Dear Miss Granger and Mr Snape,” she read aloud, “I wish to thank you for your excellent contribution to this month's issue of _The Quibbler_ , and have included an early copy to show my gratitude. All the best, Xenophilius Lovegood.” She lowered the note. “Do you think there'll be any push-back on the article? I can't imagine this will be easy for people to read.”

Severus shrugged and sipped his coffee. “It's difficult to say, but I daresay Kingsley won't be pleased.”

Hermione huffed. “I really don't care, to be perfectly honest.” She sighed. “I have to get to class. I don't know why I bother, it's not as though Slughorn actually teaches us anything. I'd learn more staying here with you.”

What a tempting notion. Severus chuckled. “Go to class, Hermione.”

She squeezed his shoulder walking past, and a few minutes later he heard her leave through the Floo.

He wouldn't admit it, but he preferred having her there too. The house was too quiet when she wasn't around, and it wasn't as though he had an abundance of friends to have over for tea. He was grateful he had the option to spend time in the garden and the converted potions lab; if the house-arrest had been limited to the four walls of the house he would have gone stir crazy months ago.

Severus took his time clearing up the table – those months without magic had given him a taste for doing dishes the Muggle way – and then he put on a load of laundry. A garment could only be freshened up with magic so many times before needing a proper wash.

Then came the whoosh of the Floo. He went into the sitting room, where he stopped and frowned. “Hermione? What are you doing back so soon?” He had to check the clock to make sure it hadn't been two hours. No, it'd been barely ten minutes since she left.

“Potions was cancelled!” Hermione said, pulling off her hat and scarf. “There was no explanation, no homework or assignment. Just a note on the door saying Potions had been cancelled.”

His eyebrows raised. “That is peculiar. Unless Slughorn had enough and just left. I wouldn't put it past him.”

Hermione let out a dry chuckle. “I wouldn't either. I suppose I should do some revising instead.”

Severus snorted. “Hardly. As you said; you would have learnt more staying here than going to Potions class. Which Potion were you supposed to work on today?”

“The Regermination Potion.”

He gave a curt nod. “Then that's what you'll brew. You have five minutes until I expect you in the Potions lab ready to begin.”

Hermione chuckled. “Are you joking?”

He quirked his eyebrow. “Does it look like I'm joking?”

She bit her lip.

He wanted to bite it for her. Instead, he went to set up the lab. That was much safer.

Hermione joined him three and a half minutes later, dressed in jeans and a black jumper. Thank Merlin she'd changed out of her uniform. She went up to the work station where he'd put up the standard Potions kit.

Summoning a piece of parchment, he transfigured it into a blackboard. With another wave of his hand the instructions for the Regermination Potionappeared – his variation of course.

“You have two hours,” he said.

Hermione couldn't stifle her grin. “Are you going to call me Miss Granger and take points from Gryffindor if I don't meet your standards?”

Severus suppressed a shudder. He didn't need any reminders that if things had gone differently, she would still be his student. “Hardly.”

They began their separate potions in silence.

As it was wont to do when he was preparing ingredients, Severus' mind wandered. How different his life would be if he had been exonerated and gone back to teach Potions. He would never have got to know Hermione the way he did now; he would not have allowed himself to become close to a student. When he first started teaching there had been a seventh-year student – Slytherin, and daughter of a Death Eater arrested during the first war – who had thought seducing the Potions Master would increase her chance of a higher grade. He had rebuked her advances and made it clear such behaviour would not be tolerated. The incident saw the most points lost from Slytherin in thirty years.

“May I ask a question?” Hermione asked a while later.

Severus held up a hand, as he was just about to add four drops of bubotuber pus to his cauldron. A drop too much would be disastrous to the potion. Once the bubotuber pus was in, he stirred the potion three times anti-clockwise and put down the stirring rod on the worktop.

“Yes?”

“Your instructions say to finely slice the silverweed, while the book says to chop it. Why is slicing better?”

“Think about the other ingredients for a second.”

She tilted her head, a look of concentration on her face. “The silverweed's reaction with the herbaria is what activates the potion. By slicing instead of chopping, the silverweed is absorbed quicker and makes the potion ready faster?”

The corners of Severus' mouth twitched. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you?” She chuckled. “Telling you.”

“You are partly correct. By slicing instead of chopping, the silverweed is absorbed quicker by the herbaria and moondew which prolongs the efficiency of the potion.”

“That doesn't make sense,” she said, continuing to prepare ingredients. “The finer you slice or cut the ingredients the faster they can react with each other. Shouldn't that lessen the efficiency of the potion?”

“That depends on which ingredient is used as a stabiliser; the castor oil used in the Regermination Potion prolongs efficiency while using a stabiliser like armadillo bile or bat spleen would indeed lessen the efficiency of a potion.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “Then why doesn't it just say so in the bloody book?”

Severus chuckled. “Ah, but that wouldn't require you to actually think for yourself. Potions isn't like other subjects like Herbology of History of Magic; you can't learn everything about it just by reading about it.”

“I know,” Hermione said, dropping the sliced silverweed into the potion. “I'm just frustrated about it.”

“There's no shame in wanting to be the best, Hermione. As long as you realise that no one can be the best at everything.”

She smiled. “Didn't you get all O's on your NEWTs?”

Severus chuckled. “I did not, in fact. I made the mistake of taking Divination as my seventh NEWT, earning me my first and only Troll.”

Hermione laughed. “You didn't?”

“Ah, but I did.” Severus turned back to his potion, which had now simmered for the required time and just needed to cool down before being bottled.

Hermione snorted, putting out the flame under her cauldron. “Trelawney didn't have many nice things to say about my performance in Divination either.” She peered into her cauldron. “I think this is finished. “So?” she said, leaning against the worktop, looking pleased with herself. “What grade would you give my potion?”

Peering into her cauldron, Severus tapped his bottom lip with his finger in mock consideration. “Hmm,” he said, enjoying the way she was practically bouncing on the spot. “I think this would earn an Exceeds Expectations.”

Her face fell slightly. “Exceeds Expectations?”

Severus tsked. “Are you disappointed? My standards are, as you know, quite high.”

“More like unreasonable,” she muttered, but she was smiling.

–

After lunch, they finally read through the article in _The Quibbler_.

Severus was surprised – pleasantly so – when Hermione sat close to him on the sofa. He lifted his arm to the back of the sofa, and she shifted closer. She smelled of tuberose and orange blossoms, and her soft hair tickled his neck when she turned her face towards him.

“Is this okay?”

Clearing his throat, he peered down at her and nodded. “Yes.”

She smiled and reached for _The Quibbler_ , putting the magazine on her lap. “I'm not going to lie, I'm half expecting this article to be full of mentions of Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.”

Severus snorted. “Let's hope not.”

Luckily, their fears proved unfounded. Severus was particularly pleased the article framed the deceased as victims and not deserving of what happened to them. Also included on the bottom of the article was a list of symptoms for wearers of the Suppression Cuffs – or their minders – to look out for.

“That's a relief,” Hermione said. “I was expecting a train wreck. I'm glad he included that bit at the end, about the symptoms. It could save lives.”

Severus hummed in agreement, closing the magazine and tossing it onto the coffee table. Then his treacherous hand, the one on the back of the sofa, curled around Hermione's shoulder. She went still for a second, then relaxed against him. Her arm sneaked across his middle, fingers toying with one of the buttons on his shirt. Looking down at her, his heart thudded faster. That couldn't be healthy. Her body was soft where it pressed against him. Barely daring to breathe, he lifted his hand and caressed the side of her face. She let out a small sigh.

Then he tilted her chin up and kissed her.

She tasted mildly of tea, but mostly just like Hermione. His hand slid down her face and around her neck, angling her head as he slanted his mouth over hers. Her hand fisted in his shirt, pulling herself up so she could press more fully against his side. The arm that had been wedged between their bodies found his face and then tangled in his hair. His head was swimming, and he had no thoughts but to get closer to her. Her mouth opened against his, and the feel of her tongue sent pleasurable shivers down his body.

Then the Floo turned green.

Hermione practically flew off the sofa, fingers tearing through a tangle in his hair. Severus stood, cursing his lack of robes. He cast a quick Freshening Up spell on them both and tried to will his erection down.

“Hermione? Severus?” Kingsley's voice came from the Floo. “Can I come on through?”

“Yes, of course.” Hermione glanced at Severus, and her mouth twitched.

He felt himself respond in same. Just the thought they'd been interrupted by the Minister for Magic while snogging was almost ludicrous.

Kingsley's broad frame seemed too large coming through the Floo, though his shoulders were slumped and his dark skin ashen. Once the Floo was closed behind him, his tired eyes met theirs. “What were you thinking?”

“Sit, please,” Hermione said.

Kingsley took the armchair, leaving Severus next to Hermione on the sofa.

Leaning his elbows on his knees, Kingsley let out a deep sigh. “So, I ask again: What the hell were you thinking?”

“You weren't listening, so we found someone who did,” Hermione said, chin raised defiantly.

“Hermione, I told you to come to me if you found any proof.”

Severus snorted. “You expected her to believe that? You've been sitting on your arse with this information for months. Miss Granger told you when I was in St Mungo's what the Suppression Cuff was doing. If you had acted quicker, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would still be alive.”

“I'm well aware what my inaction has done,” Kingsley said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I deserve your ire, believe me.” He tilted his head up. “The Wizengamot is divided on this matter; half of them think there's nothing wrong and the other half is reluctant to do anything without another system in place. No one wants to make the first move.”

The silence stretched.

Finally, Hermione spoke. “So what do we do now?”

“I'm open to suggestions, should you have them,” Kingsley said.

Severus snarled. “Now you're asking us for help? You've got the entire Ministry of Magic at your disposal and you want to put your faith into a convict and a schoolgirl?”

“I don't have many options. I thought since you were the ones who figured out something was wrong with the cuffs in the first place, you'd have some ideas.”

“We don't,” Hermione said, voice becoming shrill. “Do you know how long it took to get the information about the cuffs? We assumed you would take it from here.”

“Are you saying you won't help, even when people's lives are at stake?”

“You're pathetic,” Severus spat, disgusted.

Kingsley sighed again. “I am doing the best I can. If you're not willing to help research a substitute for the Suppression Cuff, tell me now so I can try to find someone else.”

Severus and Hermione shared a look. He knew her well enough to know she'd want to do this. She did have a propensity for taking on lost causes.

Hermione nodded slightly, then turned to Kingsley. “I'll do it.”


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

The weeks that led up to the Easter break passed by in a blur, and Hermione could barely keep track of which day it was. With less than three months until the NEWTs, she was buried in revisions and reading lists. Add the pressure of researching an alternative to the Magical Suppression Cuff and she was beyond stressed.

Every day started to look the same; by eight a.m. she was at Hogwarts to study with Neville, Ginny and Luna, which carried on into the late afternoon. When the others went down to the Great Hall for dinner she Apparated to London, picked up a quick dinner from M&S and headed to the Ministry archives and library for a few hours of research. It was normally past nine o'clock when she rubbed her tired eyes and Flooed home, by which time she was too tired to do much else than drink a cup of tea and say hello to Severus before crawling into bed.

The last day before Easter break, Hermione had had three cups of coffee before ten am. She was not okay. They were gathered at what had become _their_ table in the library, underneath a window and far away from the door.

“How's your research going?” Ginny asked.

Hermione sighed. “Not good. I don't even know what I'm looking for, to be honest.”

“You'll figure it out,” Luna said with a reassuring smile. “I have faith in you.”

Hermione gave a wan smile. “Thanks, Luna.”

Footsteps approached, and Neville appeared. “Sorry I'm late,” he said, dropping his books on the table. A light dusting of dirt covered his hands. “I was re-potting Snargaluff pods with Professor Sprout.”

“No worries, Neville.” Ginny smiled.

“I heard something interesting, about Slughorn,” he said, sitting down.

They all listened intently; after that day when he failed to show up for Potions class, Slughorn had been in attendance as usual the next Friday, acting as if nothing had happened.

“Professor Sprout likes to talk when we work, and usually it's about interesting plants or herbs. Did you know there's a sub-species of Sneezewort in Norway that-”

“Neville!”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Anyway, Sprout said McGonagall had to go fetch Slughorn from his home and threaten him to come back to finish teaching this year.”

“Are you serious?”

Neville nodded. “I'm not quite sure what McGonagall threatened Slughorn with – Sprout didn't say – but I can't imagine it being anything too gruesome.”

“I can,” Ginny snorted. “She was mad as hell when Slughorn didn't show. I haven't seen her that angry since... well, since the battle.”

Silence spread over the group. Generally, they didn't talk about the battle. Or the war. It was still too near.

“I wonder who'll take over for Slughorn next year,” Neville finally said. “I can't imagine him coming back.”

“Do you think Professor Snape would come back?” Luna asked.

Hermione shook her head. “He never wanted to teach in the first place, so I doubt there would be anything that could convince him to come back. I don't blame him.”

“Makes sense,” Ginny said. “I wouldn't want to come back to the place I almost died, either.”

-

Hermione always felt very small walking across the atrium in the Ministry of Magic – like she had no business being there. The eyes of the statues in the golden fountain seemed to follow her, mock her.

She was heading towards the lifts when a voice made her stop.

“Hey, Hermione!” Harry was half-jogging towards her, dressed in his Auror robes. He grinned when he reached her. “I thought that was you! What brings you here?”

“Hi, Harry,” she smiled. “I was just on my way down to the archives.”

He looked confused. “Oh. Do you have time for a cuppa beforehand?”

The caffeine would surely help with the headache lodged in her temples, so she accepted.

The Ministry canteen had large windows portraying a beautiful landscape with blossoming trees and bushes. It was an enchanted view though, as the cafeteria was located underground. He bought them tea and biscuits, and she chose a table by a fake window. At least it was nice to look at.

Hermione grimaced as Harry poured entirely too much sugar into his tea. He tasted it, made a face and put another teaspoon of sugar into his cup.

He tasted it again – and apparently judged the tea sufficiently sweet – and smiled. “How are you?”

“All right. A bit tired,” she said, taking a sip of her tea – her sugar free tea.

“You look like shit.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great, thanks.”

“Something's up with you. Tell me?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Hermione insisted, crumbling a Biscoff biscuit between her fingers, “I'm just really busy with revisions.”

Harry sighed. “This isn't just the NEWTs. I know you, Hermione; I know when something's bothering you. You're also a shit liar.”

Hermione snorted. If he only knew.

Her stomach knotted together when she realised she hadn't told Harry about her deal with Kingsley. Taking another sip of tea, she told Harry everything about Kingsley's visit and her promise to research an alternative to the Suppression Cuff. When she was finished speaking, Harry looked dumbstruck.

“Kingsley actually said that to you?” At her nod, he swore. “I didn't think he'd be that thickheaded. I find it hard to believe that in a Ministry full of people there isn't someone who would be willing to help.”

She shrugged. “It's a controversial subject. Even you and Ron had a difficult time seeing things from my perspective.”

“Still!” He tugged a hand through his hair again, and she stifled a smile. He really needed a haircut. “They're supposed to be the adults!”

Hermione snorted, the tea she'd been sipping going all over her face. “We're adults too, Harry,” she said, wiping tea from her chin.

Harry blinked twice. “Oh. I suppose we are. Merlin, when did that happen?”

She gave a half-smile. It was always both amusing and a bit heartbreaking to see Harry, who had been forced to grow up so fast, behave like...well, Ron, really. “I think around the fifth time Voldemort tried to kill you.”

“I guess you're right. As usual.”

“I'm not always right,” Hermione protested. “Just seldom wrong.”

Harry chuckled. “Fair enough. What about Snape?”

Hoping her face wasn't the shade of a tomato, Hermione looked away. “What about him?”

“Is he helping you with the research?”

Confident her face wouldn't betray her, Hermione casually looked back at Harry. “How can he help when all the information is here and he can't leave the house?” She sighed. Her head was still pounding, and she desperately felt like crying. “Sorry, that was rude. He does what he can, and I'm grateful for it.”

“That's good.” Harry hesitated, getting that look on his face that meant he wasn't sure how she'd react to what he was about to say. “You should go home, Hermione. Get some rest. The research can wait until tomorrow.”

Hermione sighed. He was probably right. “When did you get so insightful?”

He smiled wryly. “Around the fifth time Voldemort tried to kill me.”

-

It was barely seven o'clock and still light out when Hermione stepped through the Floo in the sitting room. Putting her book bag on the floor, she sank down on the sofa with a sigh. Maybe Harry was right that she needed a break. For a moment she considered going out to the Potions lab; it felt as though she hadn't spoken properly to Severus in ages, and she missed him, but she was just so tired. She needed to rest for a bit, then she would go to him. Head tipping back, she closed her eyes.

“Hermione?”

She opened her eyes slowly, disoriented. Why was Severus in her bedroom? She blinked, seeing the fireplace and the family photos. Oh. She wasn't in her bedroom, she was on the sofa.

Rubbing her eyes, she sat up properly. “What time is it?”

He pulled back and sat on the armrest. “It's half eight. When did you get in?”

“Oh, not long ago.” She stifled a yawn with her hand. “I must have fallen asleep.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Obviously.”

Much to her chagrin, she felt tears burn in the corner of her eyes. Looking down, she bit her lip, hoping her hair would mask her tears.

The sofa dipped when he sat down next to her. “Hermione, are you all right?”

Brushing the tears away, she looked at him and tried to smile. “I'm fine. Just tired. And I've missed you.”

“We live in the same house.”

She sniffled. “I know, but I've been so busy these past weeks I feel like I haven't seen you at all. Not properly, anyway.”

Without a word, he lifted his arm so she could snuggle into his side. Bringing her knees up, she leant her head against his chest. She felt very small, sitting there sniffling with Severus' arm wrapped around her shoulders. He smelt comforting, and his body was warm against hers. She could have easily fallen asleep again.

“You've been overworking yourself,” he finally said, though his tone was softer than usual. “One can only do that for so long before one crashes.”

“I suppose,” she muttered, sounding petulant even to her ears. “I'm sorry.”

He nudged her chin up so their eyes met. “You don't need to apologise,” he said slowly, thumb trailing over her cheek and brushing away her tears, “but you do need to slow down.”

“But I've got so much work to do.”

Severus chuckled. “You'll always have work to do. Am I correct in assuming you're ahead in your revision?”

She nodded. “I am.”

“Then I suggest you take the first two days of your Easter break off from any studying or researching. Your brain needs rest just as much as your body does.” As if sensing she was about to protest, he continued. “You may help me in the garden or with brewing if you feel idle.”

Suddenly shy, Hermione buried her face in his chest. “As long as I get to be with you, Severus.”

Was she imagining his breath hitching slightly? Pressed against him as she was, it was hard to tell. She definitely wasn't imagining the way his arm tightened slightly against her and the kiss he placed on her head.

They sat in comfortable silence, listening to the crackling fire and the occasional sound of a car going by outside the window. Hermione felt her eyelids grow heavy. Severus' chest rumbled as he said something, but she was too close to sleep to register what it was.

When she woke up, the room was dark. She was still snuggled up against Severus, who had a book in his lap.

“I'm sorry,” she said, shifting to sit up. Her body felt cold when his arm dropped from her shoulders. “I didn't mean to fall asleep on you.”

“It's no worry.” Severus cleared his throat. “Though I recommend you try to get some sleep in an actual bed.”

She stretched, wincing when her back popped. “I suppose.” Rising from the couch, she straightened her clothing.

Severus rose, but before he could speak there was a pecking noise on the front window.

Hermione frowned at the owl on the other side of the glass, but hurried over to let it in. “Who on earth is sending an owl this late?”

Removing the letter from the owl's leg, her heart sped up when she recognised Kingsley's handwriting. She barely dared to open it. Once she did and read through the contents, she was once again near tears. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

“What does he say?”

Wordlessly she handed Severus the letter and sank down on the sofa, resting her head in her hands.

“Dear Hermione,” Severus read aloud. “Despite my protests, the Wizengamot have decided to gather on May 3rd at 8 am to hear your proposal on an alternative for the Magical Suppression Cuff. You need to send in your proposal by 9 am on April 30th. I'm sorry; I tried.” The paper crinkled. Severus inhaled sharply. “What the fuck is he thinking?”

Hermione tried to breathe deeply. It would be okay. May 3rd was – oh, sweet Circe – just over a month away. Four weeks. Four weeks and three days, to be precise. She could do that. It had taken them a month and a bit to figure out the full nature of the Suppression Cuff. A month for this was doable. It wasn't as if she had anything else important going on in her life at the moment. She snorted.

“Hermione?”

Sitting up, she pushed her hair back from her face. “I'm fine, honestly. It's not like I haven't worked under intense pressure before. At least this time no one's trying to kill my best friend. That I know of, anyway.”

His eyebrow quirked. “You're surprisingly calm.”

“I think I'm too stressed to even panic, to be honest.”

“I'm still going to hold you to taking things easy for the next two days.” He extended his hand towards her, and when she grasped it she was pulled to her feet. “You should go to bed.”

Hermione took advantage of their nearness to lean her forehead against his chest. “I don't think I could sleep now, to be honest. I'm too wired up.”

His hand stroked her hair. “Would you like a sleeping draught?”

She leaned back to meet his eyes.

“I do not condone it for regular use,” he continued, “but there are no risks if used sparingly. You need to rest.”

Once Hermione was in bed – sleeping draught coursing through her body and making her eyelids heavy – she couldn't help thinking that Severus' arms around her were better than any sleeping draught.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, be sure to check out the [Hearts & Cauldrons Gift Exchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/heartsandcauldronsexchange/works) for some amazing fic and art. The creators will be revealed tomorrow, and I am very excited!
> 
> A very happy holidays to you all! ✨😍

_Chapter Twenty-Four_

The Easter weekend brought thunderous rain that ruined any plans of working in the garden. Severus was pleased Hermione still kept her word of taking things easy, though. On Good Friday she slept late and came downstairs with crease marks on her cheek and her hair in a fluffy cloud around her head. She looked adorable.

A basket arrived from Molly Weasley filled to the brim with Easter eggs the size of dragon eggs and most of the day was spent on the sofa with tea, chocolate and books. They even played a round of Muggle chess – on a chessboard that had belonged to Mr Granger – and Hermione proved an abominable chess player.

Severus still found it a rather novel experience to have these idle days with someone he cared about. Her presence was soothing, regardless if they were talking or not. And how wonderful she was, with her big brown eyes and gentle smile. How strange his life had become. That it was only about six weeks until his sentence was finished – and he had no idea what to do with his life as a free man – kept him up at night.

On Easter Sunday Hermione returned to revising for her NEWTs, her book propped up on the workbench in the Potions lab. He had been brewing Pepper Up potions the entire weekend, as both the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Quidditch Team had come down with nasty colds.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “I can't focus. All I can think of is the bloody Wizengamot. How do they expect me to come up with an entirely new security system for some of the worst terrorists in our time in only a month? It almost makes me wish I had a time-turner again.”

“Again?”

She bit her lip. “McGonagall gave me one during my third year so I could take all the classes I wanted.”

Severus frowned. Her third year. That was the year Lupin taught DADA, and... he stiffened. The Shrieking Shack. Black's escape and the reveal of Pettigrew as both alive and the Dark Lord's man. He doused the flame of the Pepper Up potion. “Did you use the time-turner that night in the Shack?”

The silence was his answer. How much had they changed by going back in time? Black's mysterious disappearance, he was sure of, but what else? Admittedly, the man had been innocent of betraying the Potters and killing Pettigrew. Regardless of the hate and loathing Severus felt for the man, he didn't deserve the Dementor's kiss.

She looked apprehensive. “I thought you knew that. Didn't Dumbledore tell you?”

“He did not.”

“Oh.”

The silence stretched.

“I never thanked you for coming after us,” Hermione finally said. “It couldn't have been an easy decision, knowing Lupin hadn't taken his potion.”

Severus snorted. “Everything hinged on Potter staying alive, which wasn't helped by his propensity to fling himself into situations where he might get killed.”

She winced. “He did do that a lot, didn't he?”

“He did.”

“Are you mad at me?”

He frowned. What was she on about? “Why would I be mad?”

She shrugged. “Letting Sirius get away; robbing you of an Order of Merlin.”

Severus touched her arm, and her hand automatically covered his. “I never wanted their recognition. As for Black...” He sighed. “Though I am loath to admit it, you did the right thing. And with regards to the Wizengamot; I daresay they underestimate your talents gravely if they think you won't be able to come up with a proposal.”

“You think I can do it?”

He nodded. “I have every confidence in you.”

“That means a lot to me, Severus.”

Her smile warmed his insides. Merlin, he was acting like a teenage boy who just discovered how to tug on his wand. “I should get back to brewing,” he said even though he stepped in closer. His thighs bumped against her knees.

“I should continue revising,” she breathed, knees parting.

Slowly, giving her ample time to pull back, Severus placed his hands on the outsides of her knees. His eyes didn't leave hers, and his heart beat faster when he saw nothing but acceptance – and a slight nervousness – on her face. Exhaling shakily he ran his hands up the sides of her thighs, stepping between them as he did. They were nearly at eye level. He should step back, but the voice in the back of his mind was protesting. He made the rules, why shouldn't he break them?

She grasped his shoulders. Leaning down, he rested his forehead against hers. Her eyes slid closed, but his stayed open. Stroking her hair back from her face, he kissed her softly. She breathed his name against his lips. When he pulled away, she followed.

Chuckling, he traced his thumb over her lower lip. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes dark. She wanted him, it was written clearly on her face. How breathtaking she was.

“I should get back to brewing,” he repeated, but the words sounded feeble.

“I should continue revising,” she breathed, then grasped his hair and pressed her mouth against his.

Her movement threw him off balance, and he steadied himself with one hand on the edge of the worktop. The other arm wrapped around her waist, pressing their chests together. The slide of her tongue against his sent shivers through his body. He wanted to consume her and be consumed by her; to lose himself in her kiss and her touch and never let go. His mouth left hers, instead sliding down her jaw to her neck. Her skin was soft and warm. She let out breathless gasps that would surely be the end of him. Then he felt a different texture against his lips; rough instead of smooth. Hermione stiffened slightly.

Slowing down his ministrations, Severus placed a final lingering kiss on her skin and then pulled back. Her eyes were glazed over, mouth slightly open.

He caressed the side of her face. “What are you doing to me?” he muttered.

Hermione cleared her throat. “I should ask you the same thing.” She gave a nervous smile. “How about some tea?”

Severus snorted. “Tea would be acceptable.”

She chuckled. “Don't you laugh at me. What do you want me to say, 'thanks for the snog'?”

He tilted his head. “Now that you mention it...”

“Severus!”

Placing a kiss on her forehead, he stepped back. She was far too tempting. “Go make us tea, I'll be right in.”

Jumping off the stool, Hermione gathered her books and went for the door. The sound of the rain intensified when she opened the door. He scrubbed his hand over his face. She would be the death of him.

“Severus?”

He looked over his shoulder at her.

She grinned cheekily. “Thanks for the snog.”

–

Although she had been joking, the following week made Hermione secretly wish for a time-turner. Though she tried to get a better balance with her revising and research – and Severus aided by warding the dining room after seven o'clock and making sure she ate properly – she still felt stretched too thin.

It didn't help that the anniversary of the Skirmish of Malfoy Manor was approaching. Nightmares plagued her that entire week that had her questioning whether she should call Dr Larch to book an appointment. In the end she decided against it, and instead tried the mental exercises she had learnt at therapy.

On Saturday, she woke early. Going downstairs for breakfast, she felt on edge and out of sorts. The hazy morning sun barely lit the kitchen as she put the kettle on, and she glanced out at the thick mist hanging in the air. Not even the weather was on her side today.

There were footsteps on the stairs and she took down another mug from the cupboard. Severus looked too put together for it being that early in the morning. He stood slightly behind her, resting his hand on her lower back as she fixed their tea. It was a casual touch, one she would normally welcome. Now, it made her body stiffen and she felt trapped.

She squirmed away from his touch. “I need to use the loo.”

Practically bolting upstairs, she headed for the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she slumped down on the toilet, head in her hands. She just needed to get through today. Tomorrow everything would be fine, and she wouldn't hear the echo of her own screams in her ears. Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing. What was it that Dr Larch had taught her, something about breathing in a box? No, that didn't make any sense.

The landing creaked, then came a soft knock on the door. “Hermione? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine!” Her voice was shrill even to her ears. “I'll be right out.”

She heard a faint thud on the door and a low sigh. “You are clearly not fine. You don't have to talk, but will you please let me in?”

Hermione hesitated. She didn't want to burden him with this. That little voice in the back of her mind kept saying that it was better to stay quiet, that he wouldn't understand. Then she thought of the many conversations they'd had about the war, of him teaching, her upbringing. When had he ever not understood her? With a wave of her hand – her wand was still on her bedside table – the lock clicked.

The door swung open gently, revealing a frowning Severus.

“I'm sorry,” she said, voice small.

Entering the bathroom, Severus knelt before her. “What for?”

“Acting like a child.”

“You're not.” He sighed. “Will you tell me what's wrong?”

Hermione let out a shaky breath. “A year ago today, Harry broke the taboo on Voldemort's name. We were captured and brought to Malfoy Manor, where Bellatrix tortured me. It seemed like hours. I thought she would kill me.” She wrung her hands. “I wanted her to kill me. Anything to make the pain stop.”

He took her hands, entwining their fingers. “The Cruciatus?”

She nodded. “Among other things.” Pulling one of her hands from his, she pushed her sleeves up and removed the glamour.

Her eyes were averted, but she heard his sharp inhale. She knew what he was seeing; angry red lettering carved into the soft skin of her forearm. A smaller but equally angry-looking scar was situated on her throat, and it was this that Severus' hand found first. Her heart pounded, for multiple reasons, when he lightly caressed it with the pad of his finger.

“I felt this,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

Hermione swallowed. “The knife was cursed. The Healers at St Mungo's did what they could, but they couldn't do anything about the scarring.”

“I'm familiar with Bellatrix' knife. It was a favourite of hers.”

This made her look up. His eyes were on her forearm, his dark hair falling into his face. Her hand trembled when she reached out and pushed it back behind his ear.

His eyes met hers. “These scars mean that you are a survivor. She did not break you.” Slowly, his eyes not leaving hers, he ran his thumb over the crudely carved letters.

Her breath hitched.

“I recall that night,” Severus said. “The Dark Lord was furious that Potter escaped.”

“It was all thanks to Dobby. We wouldn't have made it out without him.”

“I was sorry to hear about his death. It was a tragedy.”

“Harry and Ron think so too.” Her tone came out harsher than she had intended. “When they talk about that day, it's about Dobby. And it's horrible that he died, I wished he hadn't, but I feel...” she trailed off, cast her eyes to the ceiling and pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Once she felt confident she wouldn't cry, she continued. “It's like they forgot what happened to me there. That Bellatrix used the Cruciatus on me repeatedly, carved this word into my skin, and that she was going to give me to Greyback once she was finished.” The vile words Greyback whispered he would do to her had lingered in her mind for weeks. After the battle, she couldn't believe he was dead until she saw his lifeless and mangled body with her own eyes.

“You know I don't usually have much positive to say about Potter and Weasley, but I do not imagine that is the case.”

She sighed. “On some level, I know that. But these things aren't rational, are they?”

“They are not.” He shifted position, and Hermione heard his knees crack slightly. “I'm too old to sit on the floor,” he grumbled.

Hermione chuckled.

“I'm glad you find my pain amusing,” he deadpanned, but the corners of his mouth twitched up. “I could use some help in the garden, if you feel up to it?”

Nodding, Hermione let him pull her to her feet. When he made to leave the bathroom, she tugged on his hand. “Wait.” She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. His arms were around her in a second, and a sense of calm spread through her body. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” his voice rumbled in her ear.

She pulled back to catch his eyes. “Being you.”

He scoffed. “I hardly think that merits being thanked.”

She smiled. “I think it does.”

Severus placed a swift kiss on her forehead. “No more foolishness.”

Hermione vowed then to make it her mission to get him comfortable with receiving compliments. She rather thought it would be a life-long one.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of suicide.

_Chapter Twenty-Five_

Hermione appeared on the outskirts of a small village, where she followed a mossy garden wall until she reached a white wooden gate. The house itself didn't look much different from when she was last there; the same yellow front door and stone exterior greeted her as she walked up the garden path, but the trees were in full bloom - spring had at last reached even this part of the country.

The door opened on her first knock, revealing Andromeda Tonks with a squirming Teddy on her hip.

“Come on in, Hermione,” she smiled, stepping out of the way. “Can you say hello to Hermione, Teddy?”

Teddy, who had just turned one, only gave a gummy grin and a joyous shriek.

“Thanks for having me,” Hermione said.

“Draco's in the conservatory. Why don't you go on in and I'll fetch you some tea.”

The cottage was warm, and a fire was crackling in the front room. Hermione passed several family photos on her way to the back of the house; the ones showing a young Tonks making faces and changing her appearance for the camera made her sad. She had liked Tonks very much.

Through the open door to the conservatory she spotted Malfoy's blond hair over the back of a plush armchair.

He didn't look up from his book when she sat down opposite him. He didn't look well at all. His cheekbones were more pronounced than the last time she saw him, and there were dark hollows underneath his eyes. When he turned the page, she caught a glimpse of the Suppression Cuff. It sent a chill through her. That such a small thing could cause so much suffering and death.

At length, he closed the book and finally looked at her. “Granger.”

“Malfoy.”

With a shuffling sound, Teddy appeared in the doorway. He cooed loudly and started crawling into the conservatory.

“Teddy!” Andromeda scooped him up. “You little monster,” she tsked and placed a loud kiss on Teddy's round cheek. He squealed and grabbed at her hair. “Draco, would you mind watching him while I fix tea? I swear, I can't take my eyes off him at all.”

To Hermione's surprise, he nodded and held out his arms. Teddy seemed delighted and wrapped his chubby fingers around the front of Malfoy's shirt. Hermione was too stunned to speak. She never thought she would see Draco Malfoy with a baby on his lap. Before Hermione's eyes, Teddy's hair changed from a light brown to a white blond. They could be brothers. She supposed it wasn't too strange, they _were_ related, after all.

“It's still strange when he does that,” Malfoy said, trying to stop Teddy from catapulting himself off the chair.

“Is he walking yet?” She found herself asking.

“Not quite. He tries, but he mostly falls on his arse.”

Teddy looked up at Hermione with big, blue eyes and grinned. She smiled back and stuck her tongue out. He giggled in delight.

Andromeda entered the room, carrying a large tray. “Here you go. Thank you for watching him, Draco.” Putting it down on the coffee table, she picked up a squirming Teddy. “Come, Teddy, it's time for your bath.”

Malfoy picked up the teapot and poured tea first into her cup, then his own. He placed the teapot back on the tray, spout towards him.

“Sugar or milk?”

“None, thank you.”

Sitting straight-backed, he still had that air of superiority he used to have when they were at school.

Hermione took a sip, then placed her cup back on its saucer. It was excellently brewed tea. “I assume you didn't ask to see me just to have tea?”

“You're right.” He took a sip of tea, and the cup clinked against the saucer as he put it down. “Is the article true? Is this Cuff slowly killing me?” He turned his wrist, and the cuff glistened slightly in the afternoon sun.

Oh. She should have known that was why he'd asked to see her. They had received several letters from other people wearing the cuff asking for any news or information. It was heartbreaking having to write back saying they couldn't help.

She nodded slowly. “I'm afraid so. I'm working on a proposal to replace the cuffs."

Malfoy scoffed. “You?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Would you rather it be the Ministry? They forced you to wear this in the first place without properly doing their research and without caring about the consequences.” She sighed. “I don't condone anything you've done, and Merlin knows I'll never like you, but that doesn't mean you deserve to die.”

Her words seemed to catch him off guard because he said nothing. He poured himself another cup of tea - she declined his offer for a refill with a shake of her head - and took a sip. Just when she thought he would remain silent, he spoke. “Do you know how much time I have left?” He sounded like a scared boy.

Hermione hesitated. “No, I don't.”

He averted his eyes. “I see.”

She fidgeted. The silence stretched.

Then came the sound of breaking glass, and Teddy wailing.

“Draco, could you give me a hand, please?” Andromeda's voice – laced with stress – drifted into the room.

Malfoy stood, as did Hermione.

“I should probably go,” she said, feeling very awkward.

“Thank you,” he said quickly. “For coming, I mean.”

She saw herself out, and once she was back underneath the blue sky and blossoming trees she took a shaky breath. Reformed or not – and she didn't have any proof that he was – it was difficult to be face to face with Malfoy like that. A part of her – the same part that put the boil jinx on the DA sign up sheet – enjoyed the moral superiority of knowing he was on the losing side in the war.

Hermione Apparated back home, where Severus was brewing. She didn't have time to stay and chat, so she merely sent him a smile – which was met with a quirked eyebrow and a small nod – before going into the house. Her planner was colour coded to within an inch of its life, and she pulled up the afternoon block for that day. Ah, Arithmancy. Sharpening her pencil, she got to work.

–

Hermione couldn't sleep.

The neon numbers on her alarm clock seemed to mock her as they showed her it was well after two o'clock in the morning. She had been tossing and turning for hours, unable to find rest. Her conversation with Malfoy earlier ran on repeat through her mind, and it was exhausting. Sitting up, she sighed. Maybe she could risk taking a sleeping draught. It _had_ been over two weeks since she last had to take one. Surely that would be all right? The shorts and old t-shirt she wore to bed did little to protect her from the chill of the room, and goosebumps broke out on her arms and legs when she crossed the landing and went downstairs.

She was surprised to see a light on in the sitting room, and she paused in the doorway. Severus appeared deep in thought, hands steepled under his chin as he regarded the lit fire. He looked up when she called his name.

He cleared his throat. “Can't sleep?” When she shook her head, he held out his hand. “Come, sit for a while.”

Practically burrowing into his side, Hermione rested her head against his chest. Severus' arm wrapped around her shoulder, fingers slowly drawing patterns on her bare skin just below the sleeve of her shirt. Within minutes she felt her mind and breathing calm down. He really was better than a sleeping draught.

“What are you doing up so late?” she asked at length, voice low. To speak louder in the quietness of the room seemed inappropriate.

At first she thought he hadn't heard her, but then she felt him sigh against her.

“Today was my mother's birthday.”

Oh.

Though they had spoken at length about almost every topic under the sun, Severus had always been fairly tight-lipped about his parents and upbringing, bar what Rita Skeeter had written in the pile of rubbish she called a book.

Hermione tightened her arm around him, hoping she could bring him some comfort. “I'm sure she would be glad you're thinking of her.”

He scoffed. “I'm not so sure about that.”

Frowning, Hermione leant back so she could see his face. “What makes you say that?”

He was still looking into the fire, and his brow was slightly furrowed. “My mother and I had a...difficult relationship. She died before I graduated from Hogwarts.”

She hadn't known that. Hermione tried to picture a younger Severus – still thin but without the lines on his face that spoke of how strenuous his life had been – in his Slytherin robes getting the news of his mother's passing. “Tell me about her?”

Severus sighed. “When I was little I never knew why she was always so sad; I thought I could make her feel better by helping her around the house or picking her flowers, but nothing helped. When I got older I resented her for being weak, for not standing up to Tobias. I didn't understand what she was going through. Not until it was too late.”

Hermione had a sinking feeling she knew what he meant, but she still asked, “What happened?”

“She killed herself a few weeks after my seventeenth birthday.”

Suspicion confirmed, Hermione sat up and touched the side of his face. “Severus.” He turned his head towards her, and she hated the pain in his eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

He covered her hand with his. “It was a long time ago.”

“It doesn't make it easier, I'm sure.”

“My father had already left us by that point, and I remember thinking that she could finally be free. She could use magic again and sort out her life.” He sighed. “I loved her, but I didn't like her very much, and it took me a long time to forgive her for turning a blind eye to Tobias' abuse.”

Hermione was unsure of how to respond.

Removing their joined hands from his face, Severus placed a kiss on her palm. “It's late, you should get back to bed.”

“So should you.” Her heart pounded as she rose, pulling on his hand to get him to stand. “Come to bed, Severus.” Seeing his confused look, she inhaled deeply. “I'll sleep better with you there. Please?”

Something flickered in his eyes, then he nodded. “You go ahead, I'll be right up.”

Hermione felt almost jittery as she went back to bed. Severus would be in her bedroom – in her bed. Sweet Circe. Laying on her back, the duvet pulled up over her chest, she listened intently for him to come upstairs. She had left her door open, and the dim light from the landing crept into the otherwise dark room. When the stairs creaked, her pulse went into overdrive. She heard him cross the landing, then the door to his room opened. She held her breath.

Had he changed his mind? She bit her lip. No, that seemed unlikely. He would have told her so. Turning her head towards the door, she blinked twice.

Severus stood in the open doorway. She could only see the outline of him, but it made her palms sweat. She quickly turned her gaze to the ceiling as she tried to get her breathing under control. Then he pulled back the duvet, and the bed dipped as he got in. He sighed as he settled down on the bed. She could feel his shoulder against hers, and the warmth that seemed to radiate from his body.

For goodness sake, was she a Gryffindor or not?

Trying to convince herself that this was no different than them cuddling up on the sofa (though it clearly was), she slowly turned her body towards him. He was staring up at the ceiling, pale arms above the duvet. He had on a dark t-shirt, and as she shifted to get comfortable her feet knocked into his trouser-clad legs. She gulped. There was a man in her bed. In the darkness, she couldn't make out his features, but she heard him turn towards her.

She was so tense, there was no way she would be falling asleep. Why did she think this would be a good idea? She practically jumped when she felt his hand on her waist, underneath the duvet.

“Sorry,” she said, then winced. “This is new to me.” Being this close to him sent her hormones into overdrive. She both wanted to jump him and run far away to someplace less confusing.

He chuckled low. “Sleep, Hermione.” He wrapped his arm more fully around her waist, moving closer so their bodies were fully touching. She could feel his heart thumping fast against her chest. Was he nervous too?

Hermione was glad it was dark and he couldn't see how her cheeks flushed at this revelation. Then a realisation came to her, something she had been thinking about for weeks but hadn't allowed herself to admit.

She loved him.

It felt good to finally admit it, and a sense of peace flowed through her. She had never loved anyone before, not like this.

Her hand found his arm and she followed it up to his shoulder and so she could touch the side of her face. She wanted to tell him, but she was terrified. Her finger stroked the lines of his lips, and she felt them curl up underneath her touch. His hand on her back moved in slow circles, and she longed to feel his touch on her bare skin.

She mustered all the courage she had in her and said, “I love you, you know.”

His hand on her back stilled, body tensing against hers. Hermione hardly dared to breathe. Had she ruined everything between them now? Was it too soon? Then he exhaled – sighed really – and his body melted into hers.

“I love you, too.”

She could have laughed – or cried – but instead she lifted herself closer so she could kiss him. Her insides felt too big for her body; like she was a big ball of energy that needed to be let out before she exploded. Breaking the kiss, she tucked her head underneath his chin. He smelt of herbs and smoke and _him_ , and she nestled her nose closer. She couldn't believe that he loved her.

“Sleep, Hermione,” he whispered against her curls, arm tightening around her.

She wasn't sure how he expected her to get any sleep with how jittery she was, but she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. They were as close as two people could be, and she matched her breathing to his. She was in that place between awake and sleeping when she heard him mutter something against her skin, but in the morning she wouldn't remember what it was.


	26. Chapter 26

_Chapter Twenty-Six_

Something warm and slightly moving was pressed against his front. Severus woke slowly – which was unlike him – and he opened his eyes to brown curls and the curve of Hermione's shoulder by his chin. The room was still dark. The events of the previous night washed over him. Eileen's birthday. Hermione's eyes when she asked him to come to bed. The tremor in her voice when she proclaimed she loved him. How peculiar a thing. A strange quietness inhabited his body, and he tightened his grip on her waist slightly. Was that how it felt to love and be loved? He knew he loved her very much – more than he ever thought himself capable of.

Closing his eyes again, he buried his nose in her hair and allowed her deep breaths to pull him back to sleep. When he woke up the next time it was to a light touch on his hand. Stretching, his toes rubbed against her calves. Hermione's breath hitched.

“Morning,” he mumbled, nuzzling the back of her shoulder.

She cleared her throat. “Good morning.” She shuffled around so they were face to face. Her eyes were still cloudy with sleep, and he reached out to touch the crease mark on her cheek. She smiled. “How was your sleep?”

He pushed a rogue curl behind her ear. “Besides almost being choked by your hair, very well. You?”

“Surprisingly well.” Her cheeks flushed. “I'm not used to sharing a bed.”

Severus didn't allow himself to linger too long on the possible meaning of that. His arm was still slung around her waist, but her shirt had ridden up sometime during the night and his palm was touching warm skin. He should get up before either of them did anything rash.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, he couldn't decide which – she seemed to be thinking the same because she smiled nervously and said, “Breakfast?”

“Yes,” he said and brushed his lips against hers, then rose from the bed. He tried to will his body to calm down, but after being pressed against Hermione all night that was easier said than done. Picturing the Dark Lord in lace suspenders did the trick, though.

“I'm gonna take a shower,” Hermione said. She seemed jittery, and he caught her hand as she walked past.

“Nothing's changed,” he said, making sure to meet her eyes. “My feelings are the same as they were yesterday, or last week. The only difference is now you know, as well.”

She bit her lip, twisting her hands so their fingers were interlocked. “It feels different, but also the same. Is that usual?”

Severus shrugged. “I wouldn't know. This is new to me, too.”

To his surprise, after this admittance she reached up and wrapped her arms around him. His encircled her automatically, fingers tangling in her curls.

“What's that expression, the blind leading the blind?” she mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt.

Severus snorted. “A bit dramatic, don't you think?” He nudged her head back to meet her eyes. “Try not to think so much.”

Hermione snorted. “Have you met me? I never stop thinking.”

He captured her mouth with his swiftly, drawing a soft moan from her. His fingers clenched in her shirt, holding her against him. Her hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. Severus shivered.

She pulled back first, letting her hands fall to his shoulders. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

Severus chuckled. “Go. I'll get breakfast.”

As he put the kettle on, the shower started upstairs. He spent the next ten minutes trying not to think about her wet, naked body underneath the shower spray. Not even the Dark Lord in lace suspenders helped him with that one.

–

That weekend saw a shift in their relationship. On Saturday evening, Hermione closed her book at midnight and shyly suggested they go to bed. His brave Gryffindor. It felt rather strange, changing into sleep clothes and then crossing the landing to her bedroom. How was it that she fit so perfectly in the crook of his arm?

This pattern continued into the following week – not that Severus was complaining – and it was almost frightening how quickly he got used to falling asleep beside her. Legs tangling together, her head resting on his chest like she belonged there. Waking up was a different matter; one that heavily featured envisioning the Dark Lord in lace suspenders.

Their relationship hadn't got more physical than it had been previously, and Severus was loath to admit it was a topic he didn't know how to broach with her. There had been a handful of women who had shared his bed in his younger years – mostly Muggle women from around Cokeworth during the summer or winter holidays – but nothing that lasted more than a night or two. Once the Dark Lord made his return, Severus had more important things to think about, and the risk was too great. As a spy, anyone close to him could be used against him.

He was fairly sure this was all new for Hermione, and as such he would let her set the pace.

On Monday morning, Hermione brushed her lips against his and left the house before 8 o'clock. She had been making great progress with the proposal for the Wizengamot, and with the deadline less than two weeks away she spent a lot of time at the Ministry Library. Severus knew better than to try to intervene when she was researching, and instead he made sure she was fed and going to bed on a reasonable time – which admittedly was easier now they were spending the nights together.

When Severus went inside the house for his lunch break, he found Harry bloody Potter in the sitting room. What an unpleasant surprise.

“What are you doing here?” He glowered.

Potter shrugged. “Just came for a chat.”

“Hermione isn't here.”

“I'm here to talk to you, actually.”

Salazar's sweaty ballsack. What had he done to deserve this? “Say what you want and then get out. I've no time for you.”

“I've just come from the Ministry, where I ran into Hermione.” Potter paused, and Severus rolled his eyes.

“Congratulations. Is that all?”

“No. I've had my suspicions for a while, but I wasn't sure until today – how she spoke of you. Do you have feelings for her?”

“I don't see how that is any of your business,” Severus said, crossing his arms. He was quickly running out of patience.

Potter fidgeted. Severus was pleased.

“I just don't want her to get hurt.”

“Nor do I.”

Potter ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I'm not stupid enough to think my word changes anything. Hermione is as stubborn as they come and if she's decided it's you she wants there's nothing I can say to change that. But if you aren't as serious about this as she is...”

His eyebrow quirked. “And what if I am?”

Potter blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh. That changes things.”

“Indeed. Now piss off, Potter, and let me have my lunch in peace.”

–

Hermione rubbed at her eyes. The lighting in the Ministry library wasn't the best – the magical world really needed to come up with something a bit better than candlelight – and her eyes were tired after so many hours poring over books. Closing the book in front of her carefully, she stretched her back. It was nearing dinner time, and the empty feeling in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since her mid-morning tea with Harry. Whoops. Best not tell Severus.

Conjuring her Patronus – using the memory of Severus' face when he told her he loved her – she sent it off to Severus with the message she would be home soon. In the lift going up to the atrium she ran through the options for dinner in her mind. She was craving a curry something fierce. Severus would be easily persuaded; he was partial to butter chicken. Her shoes made no sound on the marble floor of the Atrium. Something blonde and magenta flashed in her peripheral vision, and Hermione internally groaned. Keeping her gaze direct, she hoped she would be able to reach the Floos unscathed.

“Miss Granger, what an absolute surprise to see you here.”

Too late. It had been some time – thankfully – since Hermione saw Rita Skeeter in person, but it was still too soon.

“Miss Skeeter,” Hermione said with a nod, leaving no room in her tone that said she had time for conversation.

“What's the rush?” Rita asked, falling into step beside Hermione. “Going home to take care of your prisoner? Has this experience made you close? How does Severus Snape take his breakfast? Has he shared any of the vile things he was forced to do as a Death Eater?”

“No comment,” Hermione spoke through clenched teeth. She was nearing the Floos, and she was not at all comfortable calling out her address when Rita was in hearing distance.

Where could she go? Her mind was whirring.

Harry's. She could go to Harry's.

“You must have something you can tell me,” Rita pressed, her voice taking on a wheedling tone that made Hermione want to gag.

She grabbed a fistful of Floo powder and stepped into the Floo. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “Piss off.” Then she threw the powder at her feet and called out, “12 Grimmauld Place.”

She landed in the drawing-room, scaring poor Harry who was lounging on the sofa so he almost fell to the floor.

“Bloody hell!”

Hermione stepped into the room and brushed the soot from her jumper. “Sorry for dropping in unannounced. I was fleeing from Rita Skeeter and I didn't want her to find out where I live.”

Harry sat up and straightened his glasses. “Understandable. Do you have time for a cuppa or is Snape expecting you?”

Something in his voice made her narrow her eyes. He wasn't looking at her, instead his gaze was fixed somewhere above her left shoulder. “Harry Potter, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” He said too quickly and too high pitched.

Putting her hands on her hips, Hermione's brows raised. If she was silent for long enough, she could stare him down.

Harry squirmed, and she knew she was getting to him. Good. “Stop it. You look just like him when you do that.”

“I'll stop it if you tell me what you did.”

“I didn't do anything!” His hand tangled in his messy hair. He needed a haircut. “Although, I may have visited Snape at your house during my lunch break.”

Her eyes widened. “Harry!”

“I'm sorry, but I had some matters to discuss with him. Wizard to wizard.”

“What matters?”

Harry had that same look in his eyes that he did when he announced that they were breaking into Gringotts. “How long have you been in love with him?”

Oh.

Hermione bit her lip, but didn't answer.

He sighed. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Hermione threw herself on the sofa, resting her legs on his. “I don't know. I didn't want to admit it myself at first, I guess.” She lifted her head. “Wait, how did you know?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Our conversation over tea this morning; you should have seen your face as you talked about him. ' _Severus is really helpful with this proposal. Severus gives me back rubs whenever I want',_ ” he said in a high pitched voice.

She smacked his arm. “I did not say that. Nor do I sound so...deranged.”

“I sure hope not,” Harry scoffed. “I can live without imagining Snape giving anyone a back rub.”

Hermione looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice her flushed cheeks.

“So now you know,” she said flatly, expecting the yelling and the guilt-tripping to start. It wouldn't change anything, other than making her feel bad.

“And his feelings are the same as yours?”

Hermione nodded. He called her name, and she turned her head to meet his eyes.

“If he makes you happy, then I'm happy. Don't look so surprised,” he added, nudging her leg. “What did you expect me to do, yell and forbid you from seeing him?”

“Honestly, yes,” Hermione said, wincing.

Harry sighed. “Six months ago I probably would have. Not that you would have listened,” he added with a grin. “But now...” He blew out a puff of air. “Things are so different. We're different. Who am I to deny you something that makes you happy?”

Giggling, Hermione sat up and threw her arms around him, sending them both thudding into the armrest. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “It means a lot to me to hear you say that.”

He looked amused. “As long as you don't go giving me _any_ details, all right? I do not want to know.”

Pushing her curls from her face, Hermione snorted. “As if I would tell you, anyway. Although he does give nice back rubs.”

His eyes widened, then his face went very pink. “Ugh, Hermione,” he whined. “I said I didn't want to know.”

She bit her lip, wondering how Harry would react if she shared exactly what it felt like when Severus kissed her. Better not, though. Now all that was left was to tell Ron.

–

Hermione left for home soon after and found Severus – like almost always – in the Potions lab. “I heard you had a visitor this morning,” she said, hopping onto her stool.

“Did you now,” Severus said, not taking his eyes off the cauldron. Based on the colour and smell of the potion, he was making burn healing paste.

She leaned her chin on her hand. “Harry means well. He does!” she added when Severus rolled his eyes. “It's not as though he'll be duelling you for my honour. I will not let him – or anyone – dictate who I love.”

Severus glanced at her, then turned back to the cauldron. “Nor I.”

Her heart quickened, and had he not been stirring an extremely hot potion she would have wrapped herself around his back like a koala.

Once the potion was finished, Severus spoke. “When did you speak to Potter? I thought you only saw him this morning.”

Hermione – who had been lost in thoughts about chicken biryani and garlic naan – blinked twice. “Oh, I had to stop by Grimmauld on my way home. I had an unfortunate run-in with Rita Skeeter.”

His brow furrowed. “What did she want?”

She shrugged. “To ask intrusive questions and be a pain, as usual. I didn't want her to know where I lived, though, hence going to Harry's first.”

Snape put the vials in the crate, ready to be shipped off in the morning. “You need to be careful with her.”

Hermione laughed. “What, with Rita Skeeter? Severus, she's a tabloid journalist; no one takes her seriously. The worst thing she can do is write an article calling me a slag. Oh wait, she already did that.” She slid off the stool and crossed the space, then put her hands on his waist. “I'm not worried about her, and neither should you be.”

He sighed and gripped her upper arms, squeezing slightly. “I shall try.”

As he pulled her close, Hermione felt her bravado sink. She wasn't sure she believed her own words.


	27. Chapter 27

_Chapter Twenty-Seven_

Severus' instincts proved correct.

Three days after Hermione's run-in with Rita Skeeter, a post owl arrived with a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ , addressed to her. The attached note had nothing on it but a red lipstick mark. She Incendio'd the note straight away.

“She never learns, does she?” Hermione reached for the paper and thumbed through the pages until she reached the article. Her eyes skimmed the page, then she let out a loud snort. “Sorry,” she said, looking up at him. “This is just so absurd! Listen to this part: _'many of our readers will be shocked to learn that back in August, Miss Granger petitioned to be the minder of none other than reformed Death Eater and right hand of You-Know-Who, Severus Snape. The former Potions Master mysteriously escaped death during the final battle, and is now serving a six-month sentence for his involvement with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Since no one has actually seen Snape since he was entrusted into Miss Granger's care, it begs the question; are we sure she hasn't taken the law into her own hands?'”_ Hermione rolled her eyes. “That's the point of a house arrest, you daft cow!”

Severus put his hand on her back. “What else does she write?”

Hermione leaned into his touch. “The usual about me being 'plain yet ambitious' and a bunch of crap about my role in the war and my relationships with Harry and Ron. Apparently, when we weren't chasing after Horcruxes and nearly starving to death we all had copious amounts of sex with each other. She fancies Ron prefers doing it standing up.”

“That's absurd.”

“I agree. Ron's clearly a missionary bloke.”

Severus snorted and shook his head. “Not the part I was referring to.” Also, that was a mental image he didn't want.

“I know.” Hermione nuzzled her nose against his cheek. “I don't care what she writes.”

“Even when she's accusing you of murder?”

“No.” She placed a soft kiss on his jaw. “She's clearly wrong. Or you are very animated for a dead man.”

Severus turned his head, nose brushing against hers. “Obviously.” He wanted to kiss her, so he did. A soft, barely there kiss with just a hint of pressure before he pulled back. “Minerva will be here any minute,” he murmured. “Did she say what she wanted?”

“No.” Hermione folded the Prophet and with a flick of her wrist sent it into the fire. “She just asked what time you would be available.” She stretched, stifling a yawn.

With only a week until her proposal for the Wizengamot was due, they had started sleeping in separate rooms again. That decision had sparked a discussion that almost turned into an argument until he pressed his lips against her forehead and reminded her they had all the time in the world.

The Floo turned green, and Severus stood.

It was always a shock to see Minerva look so...old. Her eyes were still bright and steely, but her hair had more grey in it than the last time he saw her and he swore those lines on her face were new.

After exchanging pleasantries he went to the kitchen to prepare tea. When he returned to the sitting room, Hermione had slung her bag over her shoulder.

“It was nice seeing you, Professor,” Hermione smiled at Minerva as she stepped up to Floo. Before being whisked away, she met Severus' eyes and shot him a smile. He nodded slightly.

He put the tray down on the coffee table, then took a seat on the sofa. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”'

Minerva chuckled. “Right down to business, then? Have you got somewhere important to be?”

“The last time you asked to see me I ended up with a job, so I assume there is a reason for your visit and not because you missed my face,” he said dryly.

Minerva sighed. She put a spoonful of sugar in her tea, stirred it and then took a careful sip. “Astute as ever. I find myself, once again, asking for a favour.”

His brows raised. “Oh?”

“It was a mistake to hire back Horace; he's been digging in his heels and fighting me every step of the way. He has made it perfectly clear he will not stay at Hogwarts one minute longer than he needs to.”

“And this concerns me how?”

“If you were to consider coming back next year as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin. I can offer you a significant pay raise and time set aside in your schedule for your research.”

“No.”

She looked at him over the edge of her glasses, like she used to when he was still a student. It used to make him nervous, but now it mostly amused him. “No?”

“You can offer me all the galleons in the world and I still wouldn't do it. I have no intention of returning to Hogwarts.” The word _ever_ hung in the air, even if he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Minerva sighed. “I feared that would be your answer. We've had no applicants for the position as of yet and my fear is none will be made. Do you know of any former students who could be up to the task?”

Taking a sip of his tea – a new blend Hermione had acquired the previous week – he thought back on former students showing particular promise in the field.

“Celia Westbrook,” he finally said, “graduate of 1991. Ravenclaw, excellent at Potions and Charms. I believe she went on to study Potions in Europe; I recall seeing her name in a few potions journals over the years.”

She looked thoughtful. “Aye, I think I remember her. I'll send her an owl later today.” She took another sip of tea. “If you don't wish to come back to Hogwarts, what are you planning to do once your sentence is complete?”

Severus chuckled. “I haven't the foggiest.”

She smiled, her face softening. “A welcome change, I can imagine. Well, if you need a referral or anything else, don't hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.”

Silence filled the room, broken only by the ticking clock and the rain beating against the windows.

“I read an interesting article in the Prophet this morning,” Minerva said at length.

“It's worse than dragon dung. Don't tell me you actually believe anything that woman writes?”

“Of course not. I taught her when she was at Hogwarts – she was terrible at transfiguration – and even back then she had a penchant for exaggerating the truth. Why has she targeted Miss Granger this time?”

“They had a run-in at the Ministry last week, and I believe Hermione gave her a few choice words.”

“Ah, that would do it. I'm glad to see Miss Granger hasn't murdered you, though. It would be most inconvenient, lest of all for you.”

He snorted. “Indeed. She could likely keep up the ruse for months, though; not even her potions would betray her identity.”

Minerva chuckled. “She's quite something, isn't she?”

The corners of Severus' mouth twitched. “Yes, she is.”

–

“You're home early,” Severus remarked when Hermione Apparated to the potions lab at just after three in the afternoon.

“I've got a really bad headache.” She put her bag on the workbench. “Do you have any headache potion ready?”

“No, but I can make one.”

“Please.” Hermione perched herself on her normal stool and rested her forehead against the cool wood of the worktop. Despite the pounding in her head, she found the sounds of Severus preparing ingredients – and his low humming – soothing. She was practically half asleep when his warm hand caressed her back.

“The potion is ready,” he said, voice low. “Can you sit up?”

Blinking blearily at the too-bright lights, Hermione lifted her head. Severus pressed a vial into her hand, and she swallowed the contents with a grimace. He took the vial from her hand, and she rubbed at her temple.

“Thank you. I suppose I can work from home the rest of the day.”

“No.”

Her brows raised. “No?”

Severus spun the stool around so she was facing him, and put his hands on her knees. “You are working yourself too hard; the headache is your body's way of telling you to slow down. Just because we can magic the symptoms away doesn't mean you can ignore what your body is telling you.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “I suppose. Can I keep you company while you brew?” The throbbing pain in her head was already fading.

His eyes softened. “Of course.” Placing a quick kiss on her forehead he returned to his work station. “I haven't told you yet what Minerva wanted.”

Hermione sat up straighter. “I'd almost forgotten about that. What did she want?”

“For me to return to Hogwarts to teach.” He plucked down a jar of boom berries from the shelf and sighed. “She offered me everything I could possibly want; time for my research, my choosing of quarters and office space, more money.”

“You turned it down?”

“I did.”

“It was the right thing to do. You never wanted to teach, you told me that, and I can't see you going back there after everything that's happened.”

He glanced over at her. “You're right. Being at Hogwarts is all I've ever known; it's time for something else. Exactly what, I'm not sure of yet.”

“You've got time to figure that out, Severus.”

He grabbed a boom berry from the jar to slice it. “What about you? What are your plans after the NEWTs?”

Hermione shrugged. “It seems so far ahead, I don't even know. First I need to survive the proposal with the Wizengamot, then my NEWTs. Then I can start thinking about the future.” She bit her lip. “The only thing I know is I want it to be with you.”

Severus stopped his slicing. She heard him inhale sharply, then his eyes met hers. “As do I.”

Hermione couldn't stop the smile spreading over her face. Gods, how she loved him. She became lost in her thoughts as Severus continued brewing, imagining what their future would look like. She had spent a lot of time thinking about that lately, especially since they started sharing a bed. Several times she had woken up and felt him hard against her bottom, and every time she had lost her nerve in just turning around and propositioning him there and then. She wasn't even sure what his thoughts on that were. The logical solution – and Hermione was nothing if not logical – was to simply ask him. She would do that; she just needed to get through the proposal for the Wizengamot first.

Why did that feel like the less daunting task of the two?

–

The week leading to the deadline for the proposal was one of the most stressful Hermione could remember – barring their months-long camping trip on the run from You-Know-Who. On Wednesday night – two days before the deadline – she woke up disoriented in the middle of the night, suddenly remembering an argument she hadn't written down. She threw her robe on and padded downstairs to the dining room. The house was dark and quiet.

She reached for the door handle – though she didn't remember closing the door behind her before going to bed – but jumped back when it zapped her. What the hell? She tried again but to the same results. She rubbed her thumb over her palm, which was still stinging.

“You should be in bed.”

Hermione jumped, then spun around. Severus stood by the foot of the stairs, arms crossed. His hair was slightly mussed and he was wearing a grey t-shirt and sleep trousers, so she had obviously woken him.

“Did you ward the dining room?”

He smirked. “I did, and for good reason.”

“But I just remembered something I need to write down.” She sounded petulant even to her ears.

Severus chuckled low and crossed the hallway. “It can wait until morning.” He pulled her right hand from her grasp and kissed her palm gently. “Come to bed, Hermione.”

She bit her lip. “Will you stay with me?”

He nodded. “If that's what it takes to keep you in bed.”

Hermione could think of several more things he could do to keep her in bed, but she would keep those to herself. For now.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all credits to my beta, turtle_wexler. Any remaining mistakes are my own (yes I've fiddled with this after getting it beta read, don't tell anyone 💀)

_Chapter Twenty-Eight_

Heart pounding, Hermione stepped into the lift at the Ministry of Magic. Her beaded bag was slung across her body, right hand clutching the fabric as through protecting its contents. In a way she was; the folder she had placed there ten minutes earlier before leaving the house was more important than all her essays and exams combined.

The lift was empty – the morning rush of Ministry employees going to work had already subsided – and she resented the cheerful lift music. When the lift stopped, the doors opened with a ping.

“ _Level One, the Offices of the Minister for Magic_. _Please, mind the doors.”_

Hermione's footsteps echoed as she went down the well-lit corridor. Had it really been less than two months ago since she stormed down this corridor in a rage, having just learnt the terrible consequences of the Suppression Cuff? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Just like then, Lavender sat behind the desk outside Kingsley's office.

“Good morning, Hermione,” she said, then frowned. “Do you have an appointment?” She started looking through the calendar on the desk.

“No, I just came by to drop this off.” Hermione took out the folder from her beaded bag and checked that all the papers were there. “It's for Kingsley.”

“Oh, of course.” Lavender accepted the folder and put it on the desk. “I haven't seen you in a while. How've you been?”

Hermione let out a breathless chuckle. “Busy. Did Ron tell you about the proposal I've been writing?”

“He did. Is this it?” She gestured to the folder. “I think it's terrible, what's happening,” she continued when Hermione nodded. “I hope everything works out.”

Hermione smiled. “Me too. I should go, I've still got my NEWTs to prep for.”

“You'll do great, I'm sure of it.” Lavender smiled slightly. “I suppose I'll see you on Sunday?”

Hermione's stomach dropped. She had forgotten – or repressed – all about Sunday. “Yeah, see you Sunday.”

She left the Ministry feeling as anxious as she had been going in, but for a different reason. Sunday – only two days from then – marked the anniversary of the fall of You-Know-Who. The invitation had arrived a few weeks previously; there was to be a big ceremony at Hogwarts to commemorate the event and unveil the memorial garden created for those who lost their lives in the Second Wizarding War.

As a member of the Golden Trio, Hermione was expected to attend.

As he was still on house-arrest, Severus could not.

She didn't particularly want to go – and especially not without Severus – but she would, not least of all to support Harry. He had Flooed her in a panic when the news he was expected to make a speech reached him, and she spent two hours at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place helping him calm down and make a start on the speech.

The sun was warm on Hermione's face as she crossed Leicester Square, and the space was busy with Muggles going about their day and enjoying the weather. The people walking ahead completely ignored the swinging sign of the Leaky Cauldron, but Hermione stepped right in. She waved a hand in greeting to the barman and stepped out to the back.

Diagon Alley appeared before her, as bustling with activity as the Muggle side she'd just come from. She headed to the apothecary first; she had a list of ingredients that Severus didn't feel comfortable buying over post-order due to them being either delicate or volatile – or both.

Her next stop was Gringotts, and she felt as if all eyes were on her as she walked down the marble hall. Considering the last time she was there she was impersonating Bellatrix Lestrange, breaking into a vault and creating a massive hole in the roof while escaping on a dragon, the goblins were right to be wary of her. It was a relief when she finished her business and stepped back outside, the heavy doors closing behind her. She would be eternally grateful they goblins hadn't demanded payment for the damages they had caused; it would have completely ruined her.

A hint of magenta flashed in the corner of her eye, and Hermione groaned. She did not have enough patience for Rita bloody Skeeter; especially after that article. Luckily it seemed Rita hadn't noticed her – yet – and Hermione hurried off the raised steps. Rita carried several shopping bags and talked loudly with the witch by her side, and her shrill laughter made Hermione shudder.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. The tiniest wave of her hand and a silently cast jinx, and Rita's bags split at the seams, strewing clothes and parchment all over the cobblestones. Her shriek echoed between the buildings.

Chuckling to herself, Hermione Disapparated.

–

Severus was in the garden when she arrived home – buried elbow-deep in soil with his sleeves rolled up and his hair tied back. Hermione's pulse quickened.

“I have your ingredients,” she said, stepping up to the garden bed.

Severus sat back on his haunches and looked up at her. “Thank you. Did you get the proposal to Kingsley all right?”

“Mmh,” she said, brushing a bit of dirt from his cheek. “He wasn't there, but I gave it to Lavender. Oh, and I went by Gringotts to transfer your money. I've been meaning to for awhile, I just haven't had the time.”

His brow furrowed. “My money?”

“Yes, that I get from the Ministry.”

Severus stood and spelled the dirt away from his arms and clothes. “I don't want your money, Hermione.”

“It's not my money; it's the Ministry's money. And it belongs to you anyway, since its purpose is to provide for your food and lodging and I've barely spent any money on that. Use it to open a shop, or buy a gold loo, or whatever you wish.”

He looked amused. “A gold loo?”

Hermione shrugged. “Churchill had one. I don't see the charm – it must be cold to sit on – but I won't judge. If you want to buy a gold loo, you buy a gold loo, and I'll just have to deal with a cold arse for the rest of my life.”

The kiss took her by surprise, his hands on either side of her face as he seemed to devour her. She responded instantly, grabbing the front of his shirt and pressing her body into his.

“What was that for?” she asked, slightly out of breath, when he released her.

Severus gave a short laugh and brushed a curl away from her face. “You really are extraordinary.”

She much felt like she would explode from happiness. “You're the extraordinary one. I love you, Severus.”

He smiled – a wide, full smile – before leaning down to kiss her again.

–

Dark clouds rolled in during the evening, bringing stifling air and rain that pelted against the roof. Severus took the chance of casting a water-repelling charm on himself as he left the potions lab; it was dark out anyway and not exactly prime weather for gardening. He removed his boots and went to the sitting room, where he found Hermione fast asleep on the sofa. A curl had escaped her braid and fluttered in front of her face with every breath. He chuckled softly. Not wanting to disturb her, he covered her with a blanket and carefully moved the curl back behind her ear. Then he kissed her forehead and dimmed the lights.

Moving upstairs, he got ready for bed – a routine that seemed lacking when she wasn't there beside him. He usually teased her about her extensive flossing routine and loved the way her nose would crinkle when she rolled her eyes at him. Once finished, he crossed the landing to his room.

He sank down on the edge of the bed – not bothering undressing – and rested his elbows on his knees. He didn't think he could fall asleep without her. Merlin, how pathetic was that? It had been what, two weeks, since they started sharing a bed? He had slept just fine alone for 39 years, and two weeks of sharing a bed had this effect on him?

Thunder rumbled through the air, followed a few seconds later by a flash of lighting. Severus didn't flinch. Growing up in Cokeworth, he used to love thunderstorms. He would sometimes go and sit underneath the bridge by the river, enjoying the way the water rippled with the rain and the world turned bright for just a second.

The thunder rumbled again, but it took longer for the lightning to flash. When it did, Severus saw movement and lifted his head.

Hermione stood in the doorway.

He sat up. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“The storm woke me.” She stepped into the room, stopping in front of him. “And the sofa isn't very comfortable to sleep on.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you.”

She bit her lip, reaching out to touch his face. “I'm awake now.”

He swallowed hard. Did she even know how tempting she was? “So you are.”

She huffed, dropping her hand back to her side. “Will you stop being obtuse? I'm trying to say something.”

Severus chuckled and caught her hand, running his thumb over her palm. “Just say it, Hermione.”

“I want you,” she said quickly. “I mean sex. I want to have sex with you, but I've never done that before so I'm nervous, and if you make- oof!”

He had reached up and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her onto his lap. Her knees spread on either side of his hips, her hands on his chest to brace herself.

“You don't need to be nervous,” he said, making sure to look her in the eyes. “It's just me. We can go as slow as you want.”

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

Severus obliged – because how could he not? - prying her mouth open with his tongue and kissing her deeply. She tasted like mint and smelled like orange blossoms, and he couldn't get enough. Her fingers wrapped in his hair, nails raking over his scalp. He groaned, drawing her closer and flexing his hips against hers and making her gasp.

Bracing himself with one hand, he scooted back on the bed and twisted them so she was on her back and he was half-laying on top of her. Departing from her mouth, he trailed kisses down her neck, nipping slightly at her skin before blowing cold air on the damp flesh. The sounds she made went straight to his cock, and he rubbed against her thigh like a randy schoolboy. He continued kissing down her collarbone – filing away the way sucking at her skin made her moan – until he reached the neckline of her shirt.

Lifting his head, he ran his finger underneath the edge of the fabric. “Off?”

She nodded impatiently, sitting up and forcing him to back. “Yours, too. I want to see you.”

A pang of nervousness shot through him as she reached for the buttons on his shirt. It had been a long time since anyone had seen him without clothes, bar the healers at St. Mungo's. He distracted her from her task with some well-placed kisses, hands tugging her shirt over her head. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the dim light, a stark contrast to her dark bra. His hands stilled, taking her in. Then her fingers finished with his buttons, parting his shirt and sliding her hands inside. He froze, blood roaring in his ears. Her hands were soft and warm against his skin. How long had it been since someone touched him in such a manner? His heart pounded on the inside of his ribs.

“Severus, are you all right?”

He cleared his throat, hands covering hers. “Forgive me. It's been some time since I was in this situation.”

She smiled, thumbs moving slowly against his skin. “You're allowed to be nervous too.”

Scooting forward, she kissed him gently. He put his hands on her stomach, feeling the muscles clench beneath his touch. He held still as she explored his upper body, running her hands all over and making his cock twitch.

Overcome with needing to touch her, Severus slid his hands around to her back, unhooking her bra and removing her hands from his person long enough to chuck it to the side. She was as soft as she looked, and she gasped when he ran the back of his fingers over a stiff nipple. Encouraging her to lay back down, he fastened his mouth around her right breast. She whimpered, fingers clutching at his back as her hips started undulating against his. He felt scar tissue as he kissed down between her breasts and towards her navel.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes – dark with lust – met his, and he ran his thumb underneath the waistband of her jeans.

“Still yes?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Yes.”

She raised her hips so he could remove her trousers, and giggled when the legs got caught on her feet. Severus chuckled and kissed her shin. Sitting back, he let her bent legs fall on either side of him, then inhaled sharply. She had never looked so beautiful as she did lying there; wild curls fanned out on the pillow and skin flushed with arousal. He curled his hands around her calves, then slowly moved his hands up her legs until he reached the edge of her knickers. Impatient with his slow pace, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her knickers and pulled them off, face flushed with equal parts arousal and embarrassment.

She let out a low groan when his fingers parted her wet folds, hands clenching in the sheets. He kept watching her face, learning what made her moan and shudder. His thumb stayed on her clit as he directed first one, then two fingers inside her. He curled them until he found the spot that made her keen, then kept his touch focused there while pressing down harder on her clit. Her back bowed and she chanted his name frantically before ending with a drawn-out moan. Watching her fall apart under his touch was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. He kept his hand on her thigh as she came down, feeling the muscle tense and shake.

“Circe,” she panted, wetting her lips. “That was...” She chuckled, rising on her elbows. “You're amazing. Now take off your trousers.”

Chuckling at her bossy tone – which he loved – he reached for the button on his trousers. Having her gaze at him with such obvious desire and passion made his head spin. What a strange notion, to be wanted. He rid himself of his trousers and pants, sitting before her fully naked. Hermione's mouth fell open, eyes dark. She scrambled to sit.

“You're beautiful,” she breathed.

She clearly needed to get her eyesight checked if she thought his pale, thin and scarred body was beautiful. “You're the beautiful one,” he countered, pulling her close so he could kiss her. He couldn't decide which part of her to touch first, running his hands over every part of her body he could reach.

He tore his mouth from hers with a groan. Her hand wrapped around his cock, moving up and down timidly.

“Fuck,” Severus panted, rested his forehead against hers, and he couldn't stop himself from thrusting into her hand.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” she admitted meekly, her breath washing over his face.

Reaching down between them he wrapped his hand around hers, tightening her grip and showing her what he liked. She was a quick study, and it didn't take long for him to push her hand away when the pleasure was too much.

Surging forward, he captured her mouth again, pushing her onto her back and settling in between her thighs. His cock nudged against her centre, and they both moaned.

She pulled her mouth away. “I'm on the potion,” she said, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Which one?”

“Mr Mulpepper's.”

Severus ran a hand over his lower abdomen, muttering a contraceptive spell. As he felt the slight tingle meaning it had caught, he said, “Just to be safe. If you want to slow down or stop, just tell me. All right?”

Hermione nodded. “I love you, Severus.”

His heart threatened to leap from his chest. “I love you, too.”

Reaching down, he ran his tip up and down her slit a few times before finding her entrance and pushing forward. He tried to keep his eyes open and on her face – searching for any signs of discomfort or her wanting to slow down – but sweet Salazar, she felt good. She was breathing heavily, her eyes closed and her brow slightly furrowed.

Severus grit his teeth. Fuck.

Once he was fully sheathed inside her he paused, splaying a shaking hand over her stomach.

“All right?” he managed. Her muscles spasmed around him twice.

She moaned, nodding her head vigorously. “Yes. Now move.”

Settling over her, Severus wrapped her leg over his hip. Then he slid out and pushed back in slowly, flexing his hips as they connected with hers. She keened, fingers digging into his ribs. He rested his forehead against her neck as he thrust faster and harder. It had been too long and she felt too good; he felt himself getting closer.

Slowing down, he rose on his elbows.

Her eyes flew open. “Why are you stopping?” she panted, hands sliding down to his arse to hold him against her.

“Because I’m trying to make this last more than two minutes,” he growled, looking down at her.

Biting her lip, she clenched her inner muscles. He almost went cross-eyed. With a growl he thrust in hard, making her yelp and then giggle. He hooked his elbow under her thigh, determined to bring her to climax at least once. By the noises she was making, she wasn’t far off. Adjusting his grip, he brought his hand down between them, finding her clit. He thrust faster, shifting his hips slightly, and her back arched off the bed.

“Severus,” she keened. “Right there, oh, don’t stop!”

A handful of thrusts later and she was coming; head thrashing and thighs tightening around him as a string of curses and grammatically incorrect sentences left her mouth. Time seemed to slow down as the tightening in his lower abdomen released and he came helplessly, groaning her name.

He all but collapsed on top of her, pressing breathless kisses to her chest and neck. Her skin tasted salty and warm. Her hand came up under his chin, raising his head to capture his mouth, their breaths mingling. They kissed languidly for some time until Severus felt her shiver against him. Rolling them over – regrettably slipping out of her – he levitated the duvet from the foot of the bed to cover them. He wasn't about to let go of the witch in his arms.

“All right?” he murmured, pushing her wild curls from her face.

“Mmmh.” She rubbed her nose against his chest. “My body feels heavy, but also light. Is that normal?”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

Hermione lifted her head. “Huh, the storm's blown over. I didn't notice.” She smirked. “I suppose we _were_ fairly occupied.”

“Indeed.”

She settled back onto his chest, fingers running idly through the hairs on his sternum. It was strangely soothing, and he likely would have dozed off if she also hadn't been moving her thigh suspiciously close to his groin. Her thumb ghosted over his right nipple.

“Stop that,” he said, not opening his eyes.

Her breath was warm on his chest as she exhaled a laugh. “Stop what?”

Severus opened an eye to look at her. “What you're doing. I thought you were tired?”

Hermione bit her lip. “I was. Now I'm not.”

His cock twitched. Merlin, she would be the death of him.

“Let's fix that then, shall we?”

She grinned and fastened her mouth on his, swinging her leg over his hips.


	29. Chapter 29

_Chapter Twenty-Nine_

Hermione woke feeling warm, Severus' naked body pressed against her back. The events of the previous night washed over her, making her cheeks flush and her core throb. Shifting, his hard cock pressed against her arse, and she bit her lip. He'd been inside her last night. More than once. She giggled softly.

“What can be amusing you this early?” came Severus' voice – drowsy with sleep – behind her, his arm tightening slightly around her waist.

“Just thinking about last night,” she replied, moving her arse back against him.

“Oh?” he purred, hand cupping her breast and rubbing her nipple.

She gasped. Twisting her head, Hermione found his mouth and kissed him deeply. She managed to roll over without breaking away from his mouth, and she threw her leg over his hip. He squeezed her arse firmly as his hips ground against her, and she gasped. How had they gone so long without doing this?

Hermione pushed against him, and after some resistance from his part, she got him to shift onto his back. Straddling him, she redirected her kisses to his jaw and neck. He let out a low growl when she traced the scar tissue on his neck with her tongue, hips pushing against her. She sucked lightly on the skin, and he whimpered. Heat pooled in her stomach. He tried to angle her hips so he could enter her, but she ground down.

Kissing and nibbling her way down his chest, she enjoyed the sounds he made and the way his hands clenched. As she knelt between his spread thighs, she paused and raised her eyes to his. They were clouded with lust but fluttered closed when she wrapped her hand around his cock.

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” she said, then lowered her mouth over his head.

She didn't get the opportunity to taste him the previous night, and she wasn't about to waste any time as she moved her head up and down. As it turned out, having a cock in your mouth wasn't terribly difficult and by the sounds he was making he seemed to be enjoying it very much. She couldn't fit all of him in her mouth, but she tried her very best – making a strangled noise leave his throat – but ended up gagging. She might save that for when she got some more experience. She opened her eyes, and seeing him coming undone like that because of her made her moan.

“Hermione,” Severus gasped, hips moving helplessly. His arm was slung over his face, the fading dark mark a stark contrast to his pale skin.

From his groans and the way he swelled in her mouth she gathered he was close, but she had no intention of stopping. She had always been thorough. His hand found hers, resting on his stomach, and he tugged on it to pull her away. But she persevered, bracing her hand on his hip and taking him deeper while hollowing her cheeks more. Despite the warning, his climax took her by surprise. His gasps and groans filled the air as he emptied himself into her mouth. She swallowed and made a face. The taste wasn't the most pleasant thing, but she could get used to it. Especially if it meant reducing the usually stoic man to a whimpering mess. It was a powerful feeling.

“Fuck,” Severus groaned, removing his arm from his face and lifting his head.

“I can do better with some practice,” she said, touching his thigh. She was fascinated by the way his cock slowly deflated.

He chuckled. “You'll be the death of me. I mean it. I'll have a heart attack and you'll have to explain to the authorities that you blew me to death.”

Hermione bit her lip and crawled up the bed to lie by his side. “Really?”

Severus ran the back of his finger over her cheek. “Yes. Now,” he purred, moving over her body. “Let's see how loudly I can make you come, shall we?”

The answer to that was quite loudly.

–

Despite how much she didn't want it to, Sunday arrived too soon.

The memorial ceremony was due to start at noon, but Hermione and Ron were meeting up with Harry at Grimmauld beforehand before arriving at Hogwarts as a unified front. She would much rather stay in bed with Severus, but needs must.

After applying some light makeup, Hermione pulled her curls into a low bun and reached for her hairpins to tame some of the more unruly pieces.

“You don't have to go,” Severus said from the doorway to the bathroom.

Her eyes met his through the mirror, and she fastened the last pin. “I do.” Turning, she leaned back against the sink. “I can't abandon Harry and Ron. They're counting on me.”

Sighing, he entered the room and clasped her waist. “You're a good friend, Hermione.”

She rested her forehead against his shoulder, hands gripping his arms. “I just want this day to be over.”

He guided her chin up. “I'll be here when you return. Whatever you need, just let me know.”

In a strange sort of irony, the robes she had purchased – after panicking and realising she didn't own anything appropriate for such an occasion – were black and severe with tiny buttons on the cuffs and neckline. Severus quirked an eyebrow and looked amused when she came downstairs dressed and ready to go.

She rolled her eyes. “Stuff it.” Then she chuckled. “If I'm lucky they might think I'm you but polyjuiced and leave me alone.”

Severus snorted and adjusted her collar. “Just keep scowling like that and they'll run for the hills.”

Stretching up, she brushed her lips against his. “I'll see you later. I'll miss you.”

–

Ron and Harry's faces matched how she was feeling.

“We'll get through this, yeah?” Ron said, trying for a smile.

“We will,” Hermione agreed, sounding more confident than she felt. “Have you got your speech?” she asked Harry, who was looking slightly green.

“Uh yeah. Wait.” He patted the pockets of his robes. “Yes, it's here.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “Blimey, I don't want to do this.”

Ron clapped his back. “Same, mate. Let's just get through the day and we'll go for a pint later, yeah?”

Harry chuckled. “A pint, yeah, agreed. Do we have time for one now?”

Hermione snorted. “We don't.” She checked the time. “Are we ready?”

The boys nodded, and they clasped hands before Apparating.

They appeared just outside the open Hogwarts' gates, which gleamed in the sunlight. Despite the beautiful weather, the wind was cool against her face and hands. She'd almost forgotten how chilly spring in the Scottish highlands could be. Several Aurors were positioned around the gate area and up the road to the castle. Hermione was sure there were at least a half dozen wards in place too, for extra security.

“I told Lavender I'd meet her up by the podium,” Ron said as they started walking. “My family should be here somewhere, too.”

“How are they doing?” Hermione asked. She hadn't properly seen the Weasleys since Ron's birthday, though she had bumped into both Arthur and Percy when she was researching at the Ministry.

Ron shrugged. “All right. At least mum's not crying constantly anymore, though she got a bit emotional when I moved out. You still haven't come to visit,” he said pointedly.

“I know,” Hermione said. “Just let me get through the hearing tomorrow and maybe the NEWTs and I'll come over.”

“Are you nervous about the hearing?”

“More like terrified,” she chuckled. “It's people's lives at stake; I don't know what'll happen if they reject my proposal.”

Ron nudged her shoulder. “I'm sure they won't; you're the most brilliant witch I know.”

“Thanks, Ron,” she smiled. “But this is a bit different than essays or OWLs.”

“You've done what you can; the rest is up to them, now,” Harry said. “But they'd be bonkers to reject it.”

“Severus said the same thing.” She ignored the way Ron's eye twitched and Harry grimaced. “Oh, grow up.”

“It's still weird,” Ron muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't comment, as they had reached the area for the ceremony.

The memorial garden had been erected behind Hagrid's pumpkin patch, near the Forbidden Forest and the eastern shore of the Black Lake. The white tomb where Dumbledore was buried stood out like a beacon. Rows and rows of white chairs were set up next to the memorial garden, with a raised platform by the entrance where Hermione assumed the speakers would stand.

Several hundred people littered the lawns, and she kept close to Harry and Ron. It didn't take them long to find the Weasleys – the cluster of gleaming red hair stood out like a sore thumb. Ron headed straight for Lavender, and Hermione spotted Ginny and Luna, the latter sporting a set of mint green robes and yellow ribbons in her hair.

Ginny embraced Hermione tightly.

“How are you doing?” Hermione asked as she pulled back.

Ginny shrugged. “I'm doing all right. How about you?”

“I'll get back to you on that one,” Hermione said.

She received similar hugs from the rest of the Weasley clan – bar a gentler one from the eight-month pregnant Fleur – and then Kingsley's amplified voice echoed over the lawns asking people to take their seats. Hermione ended up in the front row with Harry, Ron and several other prominent figures during the war such as Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. Turning her head to see who else she recognised, she locked eyes with Theo Nott. He nodded slightly in greeting, and she gave a grimace-like smile back.

It took a few minutes for everybody to find seats and settle down, and once it had quieted down Kingsley took the stage.

He pointed his wand at his throat. “Sonorous.” He looked out over the crowd. “Welcome all, to this commemoration of the brave souls who lost their lives in the Second Wizarding War against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Today also marks the unveiling of a memorial garden, which will be open to the public after this ceremony has finished. To start off, I would like to ask you to bow your head and take a minute of silence.”

Hermione bowed her head and closed her eyes. All she could hear was the rustling of leaves in the wind and birdsong, then the silence was broken by a trumpet-like sound as Hagrid blew his nose. At her side, she heard Harry trying to suppress a laugh. She bit her lip and exhaled sharply through her nose. The Prophet would have a field-day if they burst out laughing during the moment of silence.

Kingsley cleared his throat. “Thank you. I want to welcome someone who – without him – we would not be here today. Mr Harry Potter.”

Harry took a deep breath and stepped onto the platform. “Thank you for the kind words, Minister,” he said after casting a Sonorous, “but I'm afraid I disagree with you there. There are plenty of people who did more for the war than I will ever know. Some are still with us today, and some are not. It wouldn't feel right for me to stand up here speaking without mentioning them. Without these people, I could not have got the opportunity to finish Voldemort off. I don't know all of you by name, but I will be forever grateful that you decided to fight for what was right; for our free world.” He paused, and his eyes met Hermione's for a second. She tried to look encouraging even as her eyes welled up.

“I'm grateful for Alastor Moody,” he continued, “for Tonks and Remus Lupin, who gave their lives to make this a better world for their son. I'm grateful for the Weasleys, who lost a son but never stopped fighting.” He took a deep breath. “And I'm grateful for Severus Snape, who risked his life time and time again for twenty years to provide us with vital information to win the war. Without these people, and countless others, I could not have succeeded. They are the true heroes.”

Harry walked off the platform to thunderous applause, and Hermione was barely aware of the tears streaming down her face as she clapped so hard her hands hurt. As he settled back next to her, she slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it tightly.

Next there were speeches from chairmen from different foundations that had sponsored the memorial garden, but Hermione barely listened. Harry's speech was still running through her mind, specifically the part about Severus. Whether Harry realised it or not, speaking up publicly about Severus would be a big help to him when he rejoined society, especially if he wanted to open an apothecary. People listened to the Boy-Who-Lived.

Once the speeches were finished, the memorial garden was unveiled, and people walked through it in smaller groups. It was beautifully done, with the names of the fallen engraved into white marble stones. Cornflowers and poppies had been planted at the base of the hedge surrounding the garden. It was surreal seeing the names of so many people she had known: students from Hogwarts and residents of Hogsmeade, some people she had known only by name and some she had been friendly with. All of them gone.

After she exited the garden, Professor McGonagall approached her.

“How is Severus?” McGonagall said. “I can't imagine today is easy on him, either.”

“He's fine,” Hermione said, absent-mindedly fiddling with one of the buttons on her neckline. “Although it's probably for the best that he can't be here; he would have hated Harry's speech.”

McGonagall chuckled. “Aye, he would have.” She looked down at Hermione over her glasses. “I'm grateful he has someone to count on these days.”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Professor Flitwick. Through their conversation about charms and him telling her about the possibility of an apprenticeship, Hermione couldn't get McGonagall's words out of her mind. Did she suspect something? And if so, why hadn't she tried to talk Hermione out of it?

Two hours later, Hermione desperately wanted to leave. She didn't want to be there, surrounded by the memory of so much death. It was stifling even though she was under the clear blue sky. All she wanted to do was to go home, wrap herself into Severus' embrace and have a good cry. Being there, listening to people talk about losing their loved ones, had made her realise she had almost lost Severus before she knew him, that night in the Shrieking Shack. She could still recall the terrible scream as Nagini's fangs pierced his neck, the noise as his body hit the floor. She shivered.

Harry nudged her side, drawing her attention from her thoughts. The conversation around her kept going; no one had noticed her retreating into herself.

“Go home, Hermione,” Harry murmured. “There's no shame in wanting to be with someone you care about.”

She squeezed his hand. Wonderful, lovely, Harry. “Send a Patronus if you need me, all right?”

He nodded. “I'll be fine. Now go.”

Hermione felt guilty sneaking away without saying goodbye, but she didn't have it in her to play the social game any longer. Once outside the gates, she concentrated hard and Disapparated home.

She found Severus reading in the sitting room. Their eyes met, and he put the book on the coffee table before opening his arms. Hermione practically fell into him, burying her nose in his chest. He shifted, laying back against the armrest and she sprawled out on top of him. His hands drifted up and down her back.

“How was the ceremony?” Severus said, voice rumbling close to her ear.

“Harry made a speech. You would have hated it.”

He snorted. “Probably.”

Hermione closed her eyes and just breathed him in. “I haven't asked you if you're all right,” she said at length. “It's a hard day for you as well.”

“I'm all right, Hermione,” his low voice was reassuring. He pressed down a bit harder on her back, thumbs digging into her muscles. She gave a low sigh. “I've had plenty of time coming to terms with almost dying.”

“I haven't,” she mumbled, then tilted her head to look at him. “When Professor McGonagall told us you had survived, I cried. I felt so guilty for leaving you in the Shack. We didn't even check if you were still alive. Had I known...”

“You did what you were supposed to do,” he said. “My only goal was to get those memories to Potter. I didn't even entertain the thought of surviving the war.”

“Had I known, I would have helped you.”

Something flashed in his eyes. “Would you have tried to save me even when you thought I was on the Dark Lord's side?”

“I would have.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he caressed her face. “Foolish girl.”

She nuzzled her face into his chest. “I need to prepare for the hearing tomorrow, but I'm exhausted. Can I just nap here for a bit?”

“You should sleep in an actual bed,” he countered, then patted her side. “Up.”

Hermione huffed, but climbed off and let him usher her upstairs. Once inside her bedroom, he parked her in front of the bed and reached for the tiny buttons on her neckline. She stood still, allowing him to finish unbuttoning her robes and pull them over her head. She was left in her underwear, and she flushed slightly at his appreciative smirk. He threw the robes on the chair by the desk and gently removed the pins holding her curls up. Once they were all gone, he took out her hair tie and dug his fingers into her scalp, loosening the curls. She let out a small moan.

“Sleep,” he said as his hands fell away. “I'll wake you in a few hours.”

Removing her bra, Hermione slid into bed and pulled the duvet up. “Will you stay?” she asked when he turned towards the door. “At least until I fall asleep.”

Severus got into bed – over the duvet – and sat back against the headboard. He raised his arm, and Hermione leant her head on his chest, snuggling up as close as she could.

Closing her eyes, she could pretend the fate of several hundreds of people wasn't hanging on her shoulders.


	30. Chapter 30

_Chapter Thirty_

Severus snored softly into her hair, but Hermione couldn't sleep. In less than three hours she would sit before the Wizengamot and argue her proposal for a new security system in Azkaban. She had gone over it countless times the previous night, but she still felt woefully unprepared. Severus had pulled her upstairs before midnight and done his best to both relax and distract her from what lay ahead. It had worked for a bit – her brain being blissfully fuzzy after her climax – but then it had started whirring again.

She sighed. There was no way she would be able to go back to sleep, and she carefully untangled herself from Severus' grip. He let out a small sigh but otherwise didn't stir. The pale blue light of dawn lit up the landing as she went into the bathroom. Tying her hair up in a bun, she cast a water-repelling charm on the curls before stepping into the shower. She closed her eyes and let the hot water cascade down on her face and body. Maybe she could stay there all day instead. Yes, that sounded like a much better plan.

Footsteps sounded on the tile floor, and the shower curtain was pulled aside. Callused hands wrapped around her middle, and she leaned back into his hard body.

Hermione turned her head slightly, covering his hands with her own, and nuzzling his shoulder. “I hope I didn't wake you.”

Severus pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Your absence did.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

He turned her gently in his arms. His hair was slightly mussed, and he had a pillow mark on his cheek. It made Hermione smile, and she traced it with her thumb.

“I couldn't sleep. I'm too nervous.”

“It'll be fine,” Severus reassured her.

He reached for the shower gel on the shelf behind her, and after putting some in his palm started rubbing it on her shoulders. She sighed blissfully as he went down her arms, massaging each finger slightly. He paid extra close attention to her breasts, and she bit her lip as heat pooled in her centre. Once every inch of her had been lathered and massaged, he backed her into the spray to rinse.

Hermione followed a droplet of water as it fell from his hair, down over his chest and into the curls above his half-erect cock. She wet her lips. He smirked at her appreciative look.

“We have plenty of time,” he purred, running a hand over her waist.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Somehow I doubt shower sex is as good of an idea as they make it out in the movies.”

Pressing her against the tile wall – which made her shriek – he rubbed his nose against her jaw. “We've got magic; I could always use a sticking charm.”

Giggling, she let her hands splay over his slick back and down to cup his arse, flexing her hips against his. “Try it and I'll hex you.”

“Fair enough.” Severus placed a kiss on her jaw, then fell to his knees. His hand slid around her hip and put her left thigh over his shoulder before lowering his mouth.

Hermione slung her head back against the wall with a moan, eyes falling closed. She felt more relaxed already.

–

Unfortunately the relaxed feeling didn't last long, and she was barely able to force down half a piece of toast and some weak tea for breakfast. It felt somewhat wrong to put on her funeral robes, but they were the only professional robes she owned. She applied a bit more makeup than she normally would, and spent entirely too long on trying to wrestle her hair into a neat looking chignon.

“I don't know how long I'll be,” she said walking downstairs, “but I'll bring us back pudding. Do you have any preference?”

Severus shook his head. “Whatever you choose will be fine.” He caught her arm in the doorway to the sitting room. “Breathe, love. Your proposal is ready, and so are you.”

She exhaled through a laugh. “I don't feel ready.”

He chuckled. “I know, but you are. You know this proposal by heart.”

Hermione sighed. “Thank you.”

Cupping her face, he kissed her softly.

Hermione only checked her bag for her copy of the proposal four times between stepping out of the Floo and entering the lift, which she thought showed a lot of restraint on her part.

The hearing would take place in one of the courtrooms on level ten, and Hermione's chest tightened as she walked down the black stone hallway. It was empty save for a lone wooden chair to the left of the large door. The chair creaked when Hermione sat. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, checked so no hairs had escaped her updo, and ran her tongue over her teeth. The minutes seemed to drag by.

The door opened with an echoing sound. Kingsley stepped out in the hallway, dressed in plum robes and with a grim look on his face.

“Miss Granger, please come in,” he said, moving aside. No “Hermione” for her today, it would seem.

She stood and walked ahead of him into the courtroom. It too was made of black stone and lit by several torches. Benches on different levels lined the square room, and opposite the door she'd just entered sat the Wizengamot. It wasn't the same courtroom where Umbridge had held the hearings about Muggle-borns during the war, for which she was grateful. She wasn't sure she could be there if it had been.

“Please take a seat,” Kingsley said, gesturing to an uncomfortable looking chair in the middle of the room. A wooden table had been set up in front of it, and Hermione squeezed through the gap – since it seemed both pieces of furniture had been stuck to the ground – and sat.

It was difficult not to feel intimidated, looking up at the Wizengamot. She recognised many of them by face, if not by name. It made her feel very small.

Kingsley cleared his throat. “As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I declare this meeting on May 2nd 1999 open. Today we hear Miss Hermione Jean Granger, who has submitted a proposal for a new security system in Azkaban prison. Miss Granger, you have the floor.”

Hermione gulped.

–

The silver ragweed was almost fully grown, Severus remarked as he watered the raised garden beds. They would only need a week or two before being ready to harvest. Standing up straight, he came to the sudden realisation that he wouldn't be there in two weeks. His sentence would be up, and he would be a free man. What a strange notion.

The garage door opened, showing Hermione. The black robes made her seem both taller and more severe, but her smile was soft when she approached him.

“How did it go?”

“Fine, I think,” she said. “They listened to my proposal, asked some questions and that was it, really. I don't know when they'll make their decision, but I hope it's soon. Have you had tea yet?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

She leant up to kiss his cheek. “I'm gonna change and we can have tea outside.”

Severus set up the garden furniture in a spot in the sun and after making sure there were no neighbours around he cast a quick Scourgify on the wood. Hermione came back outside carrying a tray with tea and two slices of Bakewell tart. She had changed into jeans and a light jumper, hair wild around her face, and she looked lovely. He found he preferred it to the harshness of her robes.

“You'll have to harvest those,” he said once they had finished eating, gesturing to the silver ragweed. “It won't be ready until after I've left.”

Hermione turned her face from the sun and shielded her eyes with her hand. “You're leaving?”

He touched her shoulder. “Once my sentence is finished, yes. I can't stay in this house forever.”

She bit her lip. “I suppose I knew that, but we haven't really talked about it.” Sighing, she twisted to face him, bringing her legs up on the bench. “Where will you go? Back to Spinner's End?”

He twirled a curl around his finger and shrugged. “I suppose, for the time being at least.”

“You could keep staying here,” she said to the back of his hand, where she traced her thumb over his knuckles. “There's room, and you have the potions lab already set up.”

He stretched out the curl and then let it go, watching it bounce back into place. “That's not a good idea.”

Her brown eyes shot up to his. “Why not?”

“I told you why.” He caught her chin lightly when she looked away. “I'm not trying to upset you. I love you, you know that. If I were to stay here after my sentence...” he sighed. “I would be hiding, and I've done enough of that.”

“I'm sorry,” she said weakly. “I just don't want you to leave.”

“I'm not leaving you, so don't think that for a second.”

“Logically, I know that,” Hermione said with a slight smile. “It'll just be a change to not have you here all the time.”

“It will be. But we'll manage.”

She squeezed his hand. “We'll figure it out together.”

Despite himself, Severus chuckled. Wonderful, strong, beautiful Hermione. “We will.”

–

If Severus had thought – or hoped, more like – that Hermione would slow down once the proposal was out of her hands, he was sorely mistaken. It hadn't been hard to convince her to take the afternoon off after the hearing, but the next morning he was awoken at some ungodly hour by her pushing his hair from his face and kissing his cheek.

“Hermione?” he said, still half asleep and turned onto his back. “Where are you going?”

“Hogwarts, to study for my NEWTs,” she said, pulling her jumper over her head. “I'll probably be back late.”

There was no reason for Severus to stay in bed once Hermione no longer occupied it with him, so when he heard the Floo whoosh downstairs he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

The early morning sun greeted him as he walked out to the potions lab. The newest order from Poppy – which arrived by owl every other Monday – showed a near triple increase in demand for Calming Draught and Invigoration Draught. It was no wonder; it was revision time for both the OWL and NEWT students. It was his least favourite time of the school year – second only to Valentine's Day – and during his time as Head of House he had dealt with his fair share of hysterical students during exam times. His method was usually to give them a vial of Calming Draught and send them on their way, lest they start crying on his shoulder.

Neither of the potions – even in large volumes and using his modifications – were terribly complex nor time-consuming to brew, so he let his mind wander to his conversation with Hermione the previous day. Time was running out on him deciding what to do.

–

Hermione rubbed her tired eyes. The Invigoration Draught she had taken earlier that afternoon had definitely worn off. The late spring air was slightly chilly, and the sun was only starting to set behind the Forbidden Forest as she walked down towards Hogsmeade. She had learnt the hard way not to Apparate home after a full day of revision, so instead she headed towards the Three Broomsticks.

A few minutes later, she stepped out of the Floo in the sitting room.

Severus folded The Daily Prophet and put it on the coffee table. “Welcome home.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you. I'm knackered.” She put her bag down and joined him on the sofa. “What did you do today?” she asked, snuggling up at his side.

“A lot of thinking, actually,” he said, shifting so she fit better against him. “About what you said last week.”

She frowned. “What did I say last week? Was it the bit about the gold loo? Merlin, you haven't bought a gold loo, have you, Severus?”

He chuckled. “I haven't.But I have decided to have a go at opening an apothecary after my sentence is up.”

“You have?” She sat, smiling widely. “That's wonderful news, Severus!”

He looked amused. “There's no guarantee it'll take off; people may not want to buy their potions from a former Death Eater, but I owe it to myself to try.”

Hermione touched his face, fingers curling around his jaw. “It'll be fantastic, I know it.”

Severus turned into her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Thank you. Of course, I can't start straight away; I need to get my patents in order, as well as find a shop space.” He smirked. “It also would seem I'm in need of a potions lab to start brewing in, just until I get the one in the shop set up. You wouldn't happen to know of such a space?”

Hermione squealed. “You'll do your brewing here?”

When he nodded, she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her before kissing the top of her head. Without knowing why, tears welled up in her eyes. He wouldn't leave her.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the penultimate chapter. Hold on to your hats, I love you all, and see you on the other side.

_Chapter Thirty-One_

Four days after Hermione's hearing with the Wizengamot, a letter arrived for her with the Wizengamot seal.

Severus glanced at the clock. It was barely noon. Like all other weekdays, Hermione was at Hogwarts studying for her NEWTs, and he knew she wouldn't be back for hours. Severus paced. He couldn't very well Floo there himself, and the thought of using Minerva as a glorified owl didn't exactly fill him with joy.

It had been over a year since he last cast a Patronus; not since leading Potter to the Sword of Gryffindor in the Forest of Dean, and he had never attempted to cast one wandless. No time like the present to try, and if that failed he could always Floo Potter. He shuddered. Even the notion.

He brought the memory of Hermione panting her love for him to the forefront of his mind.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Instead of the silver doe, something smaller and with wings flapped into the room. Severus gaped. What fresh hell was this?

The rook took a turn around the room, then perched on the back of the armchair and tilted its head, awaiting instructions. Severus' eyes narrowed. That was insulting.

“Tell Hermione there's a letter from Kingsley,” he said.

The rook nodded and swept from the room.

Severus leant against the sofa armrest. Little was known about why Patronuses changed, other than it occurring due to strong emotions. Since it had been so long since he had cast one, he had no idea when the change had taken place. Other than being slightly insulting, he wasn't sure how he felt about the appearance of the rook. They were intelligent enough, he supposed, and loyal.

The Floo turned green, and Hermione came through, looking slightly dishevelled.

“I ran down to Hogsmeade as soon as I got your message,” she panted, removing her bag and jacket. “Your Patronus is a rook?”

Severus snorted. “Apparently.”

“Where's the letter?”

He pushed himself off of the armrest. “Dining room, but you need to calm down first.”

“I am calm,” she said, looking anything but.

He chuckled and took her hands. “I can practically hear your heart racing.”

“That's not going to stop until I read that letter,” she muttered.

Severus lowered his head; kissing first one cheek, then the other before capturing her mouth. She sighed and melted into his body.

“While that was nice, I don't feel calmer,” she said as he pulled back. “Let's get this over with.”

In the dining room, the letter leant innocently against a transfiguration tome.

Hermione's hands shook as she reached for the letter. She opened the seal and unrolled the parchment. Severus watched her go from trepidation, to disbelief, then to shock. Her face drained of all colour, and the letter fell from her grasp.

“Hermione?”

She buried her face in her hands as sobs wracked her body, collapsing onto a chair.

Severus grabbed the letter, dread settling like a rock in his stomach. It was short, barely ten rows. The words all seemed to blur, but he caught some; _“I'm sorry”, “...regret having to inform you”, “reject your proposal.”_

Reject.

They had rejected Hermione's proposal.

He threw the parchment on the table, paced the room. His chest felt tight. It couldn't be true. Her proposal had been sound, her logic flawless. Severus stopped in front of the large window overlooking the garden. He could see his faint outline, black and severe, as well as Hermione's hunched up form at the table. He closed his eyes. Hermione's sobs cut right through his insides.

Stepping away from the window, he knelt by Hermione's side.

“Breathe, love,” he said, gently pulling her hands from her face.

She blinked rapidly, fresh tears falling from her eyes. “What do we do now?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. Rising, he pulled her to her feet. “Come.” He led her to the sitting room, where he sat and pulled her onto his lap. He kept running his hand over her back as her tears dampened his shirt.

Severus wasn't sure how long they sat like that, but it was long enough for Hermione's sobs to quiet and her tight grip on his shirt to become slack. He pushed her hair from her face to find her asleep. He sighed. It was probably for the best. He scrubbed his hand over his face. He had no idea what to do – if there was anything they _could_ do.

Legs starting to go numb, he shifted her weight off him. She let out a whimper, hand fisting in his shirt. He managed to settle on his back against the armrest, with Hermione splayed out on top of him, still asleep. He summoned his book from the side table and settled in.

Severus had almost finished his book when Hermione woke up a few hours later.

She blinked blearily, wiping at her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

Sighing, she shifted. “I'm sorry for blubbering all over you.”

“Don't be. How are you feeling?”

She laid her head back down on his chest. “Sad, angry, drained, disbelieving. Pick one, or all of them.” She sniffled. “I'm so bloody tired of crying!”

Severus closed his book. “I know.”

“What were they thinking?” Pushing off him, she sat. Her eyes were still red-rimmed and glassy. “How many more people will die because of this?”

Severus swung his legs over the side of the sofa, bringing himself to a seated position. “It doesn't bear thinking about.”

Hermione groaned. “I need to tell Malfoy. He knows about the proposal, I can't keep this from him.”

He touched her knee. “Go tomorrow.”

“But-”

He shook his head. “You're still in shock, Hermione. Wait until the morning, once it has had time to sink in. You know I don't usually condone it, but some Dreamless Sleep may be good for you tonight.”

She sighed. “You're probably right.”

“You need to eat something first; you didn't have lunch, and Dreamless Sleep is disagreeable on an empty stomach.”

She smiled slightly and covered his hand with hers. “I know.”

They ordered take away and ate in the sitting room. The TV was on, but neither of them paid it much attention. Once Hermione was in bed – with the help of the Dreamless Sleep – Severus stayed up with a cup of tea and his thoughts. He rubbed his right wrist, where the Suppression Cuff had been. If it hadn't been for Hermione, he would have been in the same situation as the other prisoners were now. If he was still alive, that is.

Severus sighed. He had never wanted a drink more in his entire life than he did right then.

–

Hermione's legs felt like lead walking up the garden path, and not only because the Dreamless Sleep had knocked her out for almost sixteen hours. She had no idea what to say to Draco. What could she say? In effect, she was delivering his death sentence. Swallowing hard, she knocked softly on the yellow front door.

Andromeda's smile was tight as she admitted her. “He's in the sitting room.”

The atmosphere in the house was very different from the last time she was there. Then, it had been full of life and light. Now it felt dark and pressing, and it made Hermione want to leave. But she couldn't. Not yet, anyway.

Even though it was May, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth.

The sofa seemed to swallow Malfoy's thin frame, and Hermione bit her lip. It had barely been a month since she saw him last, but he looked so much worse. It brought back memories of visiting Lucius, mere weeks before his passing.

“Hello, Draco,” she said, taking a seat and folding her hands in her lap.

He quirked a blonde eyebrow. “They turned down your proposal, then?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “How did you know?”

He shrugged a thin shoulder. “You called me Draco. I don't think you would have done that if you had good news.”

Hermione's throat closed, and she blinked away tears. “I'm sorry.”

Malfoy scoffed.“Why are you sorry? You tried, didn't you? It's not your fault the Wizengamot are knobs.”

Chuckling, she looked away and raised a hand to brush away her tears. “That is true.”

“It was too good to be true, anyway,” he said softly. “Do you think-” coughs wracked through his body, and he reached for the glass of water on the coffee table. “Do you think Severus would visit me after his sentence is up?” he asked once he was able to speak.

She nodded. “I'll ask him.”

His blue eyes were watery as he looked at her. “Thank you.”

She didn't know how to reply.

–

Hermione blinked blearily, unsure what had awoken her. The room was dark and silent, and the bed was empty. Rolling over, she sat up gingerly. She ran her hands over her face. Seeing Draco earlier that day had been hard. He seemed to have given up already, and it sent shivers down her spine. Severus' reaction when she recounted her visit – along with Draco’s request – had been equally chilling only because his face had gone completely blank. It was worrying.

A few minutes went by, and Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her dressing gown. Both the bathroom and his room lay dark, and Hermione grabbed her slippers before going downstairs. It too lay quiet, and Hermione frowned.

As soon as she opened the side door, she saw lights coming from the garage. What was he doing brewing in the middle of the night? She knocked lightly on the door, hearing the unmistakable sounds of Severus preparing ingredients. When she got no answer, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Three cauldrons emitted thick grey smoke, and it was extremely hot and humid in the room. Severus was bowed over the worktop, furiously writing something down in the notebook she got him for Christmas. A cutting board with two half-chopped frog brains sat precariously next to his elbow. He didn’t look up when she called his name.

“No, that’s not right,” he muttered, crossing out what he’d written and turning the page. There was something slightly unhinged about his behaviour and appearance, and it made Hermione’s stomach clench.

“Severus?” she said softly. “What are you doing?”

“Brewing,” he replied – his tone implying he thought her question inane – but didn’t look up from his scribbling.

“I can see that,” she replied, holding back the bite in her tone. Something was clearly wrong. “But it’s the middle of the night. Surely it can wait until morning?”

He slammed his hand down on the worktop, making the cutting board clatter to the ground and Hermione jump. “It can’t wait! They can’t wait!” He whipped around, and she recoiled at the look of panic on his face. “They will die – Draco will die – and there is nothing I can do.”

Hermione’s heart sank. She should have known that was what this was about. “Severus,” she coaxed, but he had turned his back on her again.

One of the cauldrons let out a large belch, and the murky yellow potion bubbled over. Severus swore and cast a vanishing charm on the ruined potion. Hermione wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to accomplish, but it was probably for the best to let him get it out of his system. She preferred him lashing out to keeping everything bottled up. It may prove destructive for now, but it was better in the long term.

With choppy movements, he put the cutting board back on the worktop and vanished the bits of frog brain scattered over the floor. Taking a new brain from the jar, he started slicing it vigorously. The mucus keeping the brains fresh was very slippery, and Hermione knew it was an accident waiting to happen. Sure enough, a few seconds later he hissed as the knife slipped off the brain and into his finger. Throwing down the knife, he let out a bellow and cleared the contents of the worktop, sending it clattering to the floor. Then he spun around and sank to the ground, his back against the counter. He rested his elbows on his bent knees and lowered his head in his hands. A thin rivulet of blood ran from his cut finger and down his arm, staining the cuff of his shirt red.

Hermione exhaled a shaky breath. Aiming an Evanesco at the cauldrons, she then doused the flames. She called his name before approaching, as not to startle him. The floor was cold on her legs through her dressing gown as she sat in front of him, and she shivered.

“Let me see,” she cooed, prying his hand from his grip. The cut wasn’t very big or deep, and she vanished the blood before doing a healing spell. He hissed as the skin knitted itself back together.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, still looking at the floor.

“It’s all right,” she said softly.

Severus lifted his head, and his eyes were glassy. “It’s not all right. I could have hurt you or caused an explosion. I was being careless, and that is inexcusable.” He blinked and looked away.

Legs protesting from the position, Hermione moved to sit next to him, burrowing into his side and leaning her head on his shoulder. “It’s all right to be upset or angry,” she said at length. “I’m so angry and sad that I don’t know what to do.”

They sat side by side for a while longer, until Hermione was so cold her teeth were chattering. With some difficulty, she stood and extended her hand. “Come back to bed, Severus.”

Taking her hand, he let her pull him to her feet. Neither of them spoke as they went back into the house and upstairs. Hermione removed her dressing down and slid into bed, Severus following seconds later. He reached for her hand in the dark, pulling her body into his and burying his face in her shoulder. She slid a leg between his knees and wrapped her arm tightly around his back.

“I don’t want him to die.” Severus' breath was warm on her neck when he spoke.

Hermione didn’t have to ask to know who he was referring to. “I don’t either.”

His back trembled slightly under her hand, and she suddenly became filled with such rage. How dare they? Unbidden, images of Severus in St. Mungo's before the bloody cuff was removed invaded her brain. It had been the trigger of all this. If he had been in someone else's care, would they have noticed what was happening to him? Would they have cared? Severus would have been the first one to die, and no one would have so much as raised an eyebrow.

Her neck became damp, and she held him tighter, letting her own tears fall into his dark hair.


	32. Chapter 32

_Chapter Thirty-Two_

The potions lab looked worse in daylight. Broken vials and jars were scattered all over, and an upturned cauldron had spilt a murky potion on the cabinets and floor. The potions he'd been brewing the previous night had solidified in their cauldrons, and the smell was ghastly. Severus didn't say anything about the events of the previous night as they started to clean up the mess, and Hermione didn't bring it up. Perhaps he found it easier to be vulnerable under the cover of darkness, and she didn't blame him.

“I've decided to look at some shop spaces later this week,” Severus said at length, vanishing the remains of a glass stirring rod with a wave of his hand.

Hermione put the copper cauldron back on the workbench and dusted off her hands. “So soon?”

He nodded. “I've no idea what the market looks like right now, so I'd rather get on with it. It might be a while before I find someplace suitable.”

She bit her lip. “I suppose.” Continuing to clear the floor of glass and bits of frog brain, Hermione shrieked when strong arms wrapped around her from behind. The broom fell from her grasp.

“You'll come with me?” he said in her ear, and his breath made her shiver.

She turned, clasping his forearms. “If you want me to.”

He chuckled. “Of course I do.” He kissed her so deeply she felt it in every part of her body down to her toes, then guided her head to rest on his shoulder.

Hermione relaxed into the embrace. She was excited for Severus to start this new chapter in his life as a free man, but it also terrified her. She wasn't ready for him to not be around all the time. She was afraid of what would happen when the bubble they had created for themselves burst. Would he realise she was too young and immature for him after all? Would the pressure of other people's opinions and expectations prove too much? She sighed heavily.

“Is there a particular reason you're demonstrating your ability to exhale audibly?”

She tilted her head up. “Sorry, just thinking.”

Severus' mouth twitched upwards, and he pulled at a curl laying on her shoulder. “When are you not? Do you feel like sharing?”

Hermione smiled slightly. “It's nothing, honestly.” Stretching, she kissed him softly. “Tea?”

As they entered the house, they heard the whoosh of the Floo. Hermione's wand was out in an instance, and Severus moved forward so he partially blocked her body with his.

They went into the sitting room, and Hermione lowered her wand. “What do you want?”

Kingsley removed his hat and rubbed his head. “I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. I'm sure I'm the last person you want to see right now.”

“That is correct,” Severus said coolly.

“Please just listen to me.”

“Why?”

Something about Kingsley's slumped shoulders made her put her hand on Severus' arm. “Severus, let's hear what he has to say.”

Severus scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. Talk.”

Kingsley slumped into the armchair, leaning his elbows on his knees with a sigh.

Hermione perched on the sofa armrest, Severus close on her right side. She wiped her clammy palms on her jeans.

“If it means anything,” Kingsley started, “I voted in favour of your proposal.”

Her brows rose. “You did?”

He nodded. “It was a close vote, but it failed to reach the majority. If it was solely up to me, I would have accepted your proposal and moved to implement it as soon as possible, but I only have one voice.”

Severus snorted. “You expect us to believe that? You have done less than the bare minimum in this mess from the start.”

Kingsley met Severus' eyes with something like determination. “I will not offer excuses, but the reality is I have been hindered in almost all decisions I've wanted to make. I pushed for assigning a group of Unspeakables to investigate the Suppression Cuff but was told nothing could be done without proof. When I presented the records you gave me, their authenticity was questioned.”He sighed and looked away. “You do not need to tell me I've failed in my duties; I am already well aware of the consequences of my inaction.”

Hermione bit her lip. It had been easy – despite all she knew about him – to paint Kingsley in the light of the villain. The disappointment was still there, as was the anger, but now there was also compassion and pity. After all, he had been thrown into the position of Minister without much warning. That would be difficult in the best of times. And these were not the best of times.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione said softly.

Kingsley waved his hand. “I didn't come here for a pity party, and you don't need to apologise. I came because I have good news.”

Hermione froze.

“While I wasn't able to sway the Wizengamot with regards to your proposal, I was able to convince them the Suppression Cuffs were unnecessary on the prisoners on house-arrest. They are starting the removal of them today.”

Next to her, Severus grabbed the back of the sofa. “They're removing the cuffs?”

Kingsley nodded. “The other stipulations are still in place, and heavy anti-Apparition wards will be set up to make sure no one tries to flee, but yes. As of tomorrow, no one on house-arrest will be wearing the Suppression Cuff.”

Exhaling shakily, Hermione relaxed. Severus' hand brushed against her back, and she wished she could grab it. This would save lives. She wasn't sure how long Draco would have lasted with the cuff, but given how he'd looked the last time she saw him, it was clear he didn't have much time left. And now he would live.

Severus pushed himself off the wall and approached Kingsley, who rose. Hermione tensed, unsure of what would happen.

Then Severus offered Kingsley his hand. “Thank you.”

The two men shook hands.

Kingsley cleared his throat. “I won't be keeping you much longer. I suppose I'll see you both tomorrow morning?”

Hermione tensed. The news about the Suppression Cuff had completely blown all thought of Severus' release from her mind. Her stomach churned.

Severus nodded. “You will.”

Kingsley offered them a slight smile and a nod before he disappeared through the Floo.

Severus collapsed in the armchair, head in his hands. Hermione stayed silent. The ticking of the clock seemed awfully loud. Severus exhaled audibly.

She rose and went to his side. Severus' back trembled slightly underneath her touch, and he wrapped his arms around her middle, pulling her to stand between his spread knees and burying his face in her chest. His hair was silky against her fingers as she provided the silent comfort he seemed to be craving.

–

The rest of the day didn't differ much from their usual routine; Hermione studied for her NEWTs in the potions lab while Severus brewed, they had a curry take away for dinner, and they spent the evening curled up on the sofa with books and tea. Despite the familiarity of this routine – bordering on mundane, really – there was a different energy between them. His hand lingered longer than usual on the small of her back as he passed her in the kitchen. She sat a bit closer to him on the sofa. Several times she opened her mouth as though to say something, then closed it again.

Getting into bed, Severus had barely turned the lights off before Hermione pressed her mouth against his and threw a leg over his hips. He met her with as much enthusiasm, pushing her onto her back and kneeling between her spread thighs. She keened when he thrust against her clothed core, her hips rocking against his.

He kissed his way down her heaving chest, pausing to pay attention to her nipples before continuing towards the apex of her thighs. Her skin was warm and soft underneath his lips. Drawing her soaked knickers down her legs, he fastened his mouth on her core. She moaned, gripping his hair and pulling her knees up.

Severus wrangled an orgasm from her trembling body before he sat back, rid himself of his pants and covered her body with his. She tilted her hips, he positioned his cock at her entrance and slowly slid as far as he could. There, he paused. Her brown eyes were wide as she looked up at him, lips parted as she inhaled sharply.

For a moment, Severus forgot how to breathe. Being with her – loving her – was more than he ever could have wished for. Bracing himself on his elbows, he cradled her face in his hands. He found he could not speak, so instead he captured her mouth and slowly started to move. She moaned and lowered her hands to his waist, pulling him against her. Their skin became slick with sweat where they slid against each other, but he kept his body close to hers. He leant his forehead against hers, eyes open as he took in the pleasure written on her face.

Her legs raised around his waist, and he slid a hand under her arse to angle her hips. Her back arched, and he kissed the valley of her breasts. Her skin was salty on his tongue, and the sounds she was making pulled him closer and closer to his climax.

“You feel so good,” he whispered against her skin, turning his head to flick his tongue over her nipple.

She whimpered. “Circe, I'm going to-” her voice dissolved into a drawn-out moan, and her body tensed against his.

Another couple of thrusts and he followed her over the edge, panting into her skin.

A sob broke the silence.

Severus raised his head, panic flowing through him. “Hermione? Are you hurt?” He pulled out and laid next to her, searching for any sign of injury.

She rolled to her side, facing him, and wiped at her eyes. “I'm sorry. I'm fine, I promise.”

He pushed her hair back from her face. “Then why are you crying?”

“I don't know.” She burrowed her face into the pillow before peering up at him, cheeks flushed. “I just love you so much.”

Severus chuckled low and kissed her brow. Goosebumps pebbled her skin, so he dried them off with a wave of his hand and pulled the duvet up to cover them. Hermione let out a contented sigh and moved closer, tucking her head underneath his chin. He wrapped his arm around her back and closed his eyes. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but going back to Spinner's End would be even more depressing now that he knew what he could have.

–

Chirping birds signalled the arrival of morning, and the room slowly began to be bathed in golden light. It danced over Hermione's skin as she rolled her hips, her head tipped back and her hair in a wild mess around her head. He had tangled his fingers in it several times during the night: to guide, to tease, to give pleasure.

Severus' hands tightened on her hips, guiding her. His eyes wanted to close but he wouldn't let them; he wanted the image of her – just like this – burnt into his mind forever. She tightened around him and he groaned. Her head fell forward, hair tumbling around her heaving shoulders, and she steadied herself with her hands on his chest. He rolled his hips up against hers, and her breath hitched.

Once she lay draped across his chest – both panting and getting various limbs under control – she smiled. “How do you feel?”

He shifted so her knee was no longer dangerously close to his groin. “Sticky.”

Hermione giggled. “That's not what I meant. You're a free man now, Severus, in all ways but on paper. How do you feel?”

He contemplated his own emotions for a minute – something he didn't do often and had no intention of doing again anytime soon. Then he looked at her smiling face, her brown eyes kind and full of love. He smiled. “Happy.”

–

While Hermione jumped into the shower, Severus went into the box room to gather his meagre belongings. Most of his possessions – his Potions books, cauldrons and so forth – would remain in the Potions lab for the foreseeable future. He transfigured a sock into a small bag and stuffed the shrunken objects inside before putting the whole thing in his trouser pocket. He looked around the small room – he could probably reach both walls without much trouble – remembering how it had felt like a prison when he'd first arrived. A cell without bars. He had resented it – and Hermione – for those first days. How was that only six months ago? Feeling himself becoming maudlin, he shook himself off and went downstairs.

A familiar plush turtle sat on the coffee table, and his mouth went dry. The Portkey would take them back to the Ministry in – he cast a wandless Tempus – five minutes. Something constricted in his chest, squeezing his heart and making it hard to breathe. In five minutes he would be free.

Hermione's familiar footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Are you ready?” Her hand was warm on his back.

He exhaled deeply. “I suppose.”

She reached past him and put her hand on the Portkey. He grabbed the plush turtle, and they were transported away.

-

They arrived in the same dingy, nondescript room he had been taken to at the beginning of his sentence; he recognised a scratch on the table that bore a resemblance to a belladonna leaf. Kingsley sat in one of the chairs, Auror Pugs in the other. Next to him, Hermione stumbled and gripped the table. His arm shot out automatically, holding her elbow.

“Are you all right, Miss Granger?” Pugs asked.

“I'm fine,” Hermione said, getting her balance back and straightening herself.

Severus dropped his hand from her elbow.

“Please sit,” Kingsley said.

The chairs scraped against the floor as Severus and Hermione took their seats. Severus crossed his arms. Underneath the table, Hermione's leg pressed against his.

Pugs read aloud from the piece of parchment in front of him. “Today, the 12th of May 1999, marks the end of the sentence of six months house-arrest for Severus Snape. At the beginning of the sentence Mr Snape was relieved of a cedar wand: dragon heartstring, twelve and three-quarter inches long, pliant. The wand is now returned to Mr Snape in accordance with the Wizarding Law of 1832.”

Severus had to stop himself from snatching his wand from Pugs' meaty fingers and waited until the wand was placed in front of him on the table. It had been almost a year since he was in possession of his wand, and wrapping his fingers around it, he could feel his magic rising inside him. It felt like coming home after a long trip. Keeping a blank face, he slid it into his sleeve.

“Are we done here?” He sounded bored even to his ears, but his heart beat wildly inside his chest.

Pugs looked annoyed. “You need to sign this, Miss Granger.”

Hermione read the parchment placed in front of her with a furrowed brow, then scribbled her signature on the bottom. Putting the quill on the table, she looked at Kingsley. “Are we done?”

“Yes,” Kingsley said. “You are a free man, Severus. Congratulations.”

Hermione snorted, and Severus barely stifled a smirk.

“Auror Barnes will show you out.”

They were led down a narrow corridor, through three doors and turned left twice. Then Auror Barnes stopped in front of a plain wooden door. With a tap of her wand on an invisible panel, the door swung open.

“The lifts are on your right-hand side,” she said.

They rode the lift in silence. Severus felt on edge, and he wasn't quite sure why. Possibly the too cheery lift music. The lift hall was crowded, and his fingers twitched. Why were there so many people? The only thing calming down was Hermione's hand brushing against his as they strode across the atrium. His chest tightened. He needed to leave. There were too many people.

Hermione tugged slightly on his sleeve, and he followed her direction. She led him to the visitor's entrance and opened the door to the red telephone box. Though slightly too small for two adults to stand in comfortably, he didn't mind having Hermione pressed against his back.

It ascended to street level, and they stepped out in the morning sunshine. The dingy street was empty, the pub across the street was dark and closed. Down to the right was the opening to a larger street, where cars and people were passing. His shoulders relaxed.

“Your life is your own now, Severus,” Hermione said, smiling widely. “What are you going to do first?”

The corner of his mouth curling up, he took her hand.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! We have reached the end. It feels fairly strange to say, mostly because I finished this chapter right before Christmas so in my mind it's been done for a while. But now it's done for you too.
> 
> I don't have the words to describe how much I appreciate every single one of you who has read, commented and/or left kudos (Also, we reached 1K kudos before the story was even finished posting, how surreal and awesome is that??). Special shout outs to my beta [turtle_wexler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_wexler/) for her endless support, comma wrangling, Britpicking and simply being the best fandom bff one could ask for, as well as to [q_drew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/q_drew/) who is the most enthusiastic alpha one could ask for and one of the nicest and strongest person I know. I love these two a lot. A final shout out and butt rub to everyone at the Hearts & Cauldrons discord for the love, laughter and support. I would not be the same without them.
> 
> Thank you all for coming along this journey with me, and keep a weather eye on the horizon for new fics coming soon (maybe even sooner than you think 😏)

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Loathe it? Love it? Let me know.
> 
> Come chat with me on [Tumblr!](https://morbidmuch.tumblr.com/) I'm friendly and sometimes funny.


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